The Lust of Necromancy
by Siren's Voice
Summary: Long before the Sabriel trilogy, there was an Abhorsen who fell in love with a necromancer. This is their story. rated M for scenes of romance. R&R.
1. First Temptation

Hiya! This is my first Garth Nix fic and I wanted it to be unique…so I spent hours grooming the 300 some other fic's so as to create an original plotline and store. And, though I found a whole bunch of "Lirael's daughter's adventures" and "after Orannis's defeat" and "insanely unrelated parody" types, I haven't found one like this, so I decided to write it. It takes place way before the trilogy around the time of the 30-somethingth Abhorsen. Proceed to read…I hope you like it!

She was drifting down into Death, towards the ninth and final gate, towards the gleaming stars that would end her in this world forever. The bells would pass to her cousin, and she would no longer be the Abhorsen. She was too weak to struggle against the binding current, the current that leeched away her soul as she crossed through the Fifth Precinct. Her raven hair flowed around her petite form as she drifted.

_Can it be possible that an Abhorsen is too weak to resist death? Wouldn't the souls of those who came before be pushing her into life and saying "this is not your path" if it were so? It is so. _She mouthed, her pallid lips forming the words which were her fate_Another dead Abhorsen._

Suddenly, she felt two burning hands lift her out of the river. She felt the corroding twist of Free Magic as it lifted her body out of the river, its force intertwining itself around her.

"No." she whispered faintly, her eyelids fluttering. She tried to resist. Death itself would bring her inevitable end, but she would not become the dead puppet of a necromancer. _No Hand will be made out of me, _she thought defiantly. The necromancer was carrying her towards the life side of the river. As her spirit broke the barrier between Life and Death, she lost all conscious thought.

Sometime later, she awoke into pure darkness. The familiar weight of her bells and charter-spelled sword were absent and she was bound with Free Magic-imbued cords to a pillar. It was made of limestone, formed from the convergence of a stalagmite and a stalactite that dripped water on her as she sat. She heard the soft musical plinking of water droplets on limestone in the damp darkness.

She was afraid. Death felt eerily close, but the usual wariness that accompanied darkness was gone. She felt no dead creatures, no necromancers with their stench of free magic, no one. She was completely and utterly alone in the darkness.

She shifted, and felt every single one of her injuries. Her body was battered and bruised all over. Her thighs ached from riding. She felt her left eye and cheek swelling; they would soon be purple and black. She felt the sting of various cuts all over her body, the gash on her right thigh, the cut on her temple. She felt the dried blood fro her nose, which was probably broken, encrusted on her lips and chin. Even her lips, the last form of a weapon that she had, were bruised and bloody.

She realized that in addition to being bound, she was gagged, and choked. She began to cry, the tears wet her dirt and bloodstained cheeks, leaving trails in the grime, and rolled down to drop off of her chin. She cried for her fate; to die alone or possibly about the fact that she was too weak to have a strong sense of the warmth of the Charter.

She was so far from the strong, confident Abhorsen that she had been only yesterday. She had faced multitudes of Hands, hundreds of Shadow Hands, flocks of Gore Crows, the attacks of necromancers, and even a few of the Greater Dead, but was broken and crying. Nevertheless, she wouldn't give up.

The necromancer heard her crying from his waiting spot, barely in the First Precinct. He smiled to himself.

"So my lovely Abhorsen has awoken…I must attend to her." He said, and then crossed the river back to Life, the current dragging weakly at his ankles as he emerged.

She felt a dark, tainted presence emerge near her, very near. It was strong. _The Necromancer_, she realized as he resumed his body. Ice crystals broke loose from his clothing as he summoned the fire of Free Magic, lighting hidden candles that perched in alcoves and ledges around the small cavern. The acrid flames lent a greenish light to the area. The Abhorsen Girl looked at him and him at her.

She had the famous blue-black hair that cascaded down to her waist, and the pallid countenance. Her face was marked all over with black blood and bruises, lacerations that showed darkly against her pale skin. The moisture of tears glistened upon her cheeks, streaking through the blood and grime. She was small, yet her armor vaguely hinted to a curvaceous figure. Her large black-brown eyes looked into his. They were void-like; a void surrounded with thick, lush, dark lashes. She glared at him, her expression a mixture of extreme pain and defiance.

She looked at the necromancer who had captured her from death and made her captive here. His dark brown, shoulder length hair was cut in lengthening layers around his head. He was tall and thin, but muscled. His strong, supple limbs and slender frame had enticed many women in the past, women unaware of his occupation. His eyes were incredibly blue, icy and clear like the Clayr's Glacier. His face might have been described as handsome, were it not for the lack of warmth. His skin was bronzed, but seemed curiously pale, pale from walking in death.

"Do you promise that you won't try to fight if I remove your gag?" His voice was in surprisingly warm and light tones for a necromancer. She made no attempt to answer him, but looked at him coldly as he bent down to where she knelt and slipped the gag off. Immediately, she attempted to whistle him into death, her voice singing of Kibeth, but she was too weak to even make him reach the boundary.

"Now, love, that won't do."

He laughed musically and smiled at her. He found it rather amusing to have complete control over so powerful a being as she. When he was received coldly, he frowned. He ran to finger down the length of her cheek, sending shivers down the length of her spine. She closed her eyes and turned her face away. The necromancer stood up.

"Now, my lovely Abhorsen, tell me your name." He looked at her. Had he wanted to, he could have spelled his words to force her to do so, but he found that this was a question she would answer freely. A name was free to give or hold; it was of no importance. Yet, he was met with a proud, defiant gaze. He was angered slightly by her refusal.

"Speak, Abhorsen." He commanded, his words crackled; they were wreathed with the taint of Free Magic. She fought the impulse for several minutes before the word spilled out.

"Sorielle."

"Mmm…Sorielle." He murmured. Swiftly, he leaned down and kissed her. She offered no resistance as his tongue entered her mouth. He held the side of her face tenderly. She was compelled by some unknown force, unlike any she'd ever encountered, to respond. Their bodies drew together naturally. The electricity of the kiss shocked through her. Free Magic and Charter magic were exchanged, the force rocking through her limbs and vibrating her very core. Abruptly, he pulled away, leaving her feeling hollow. She breathed heavily and looked at him, shocked, enraged, and wanting more all at the same time. She felt tainted by the Free Magic, and it felt good.

The necromancer put two fingers to his lips, and then looked at them. They seemed to have some of Sorielle's blood on them, and he smiled knowingly. He turned and walked away, his cape flaring out behind him. He strode out of the lit cavern, and faded into the darkness, his footsteps echoing until Sorielle couldn't hear them any longer.

"And who the hell are you?" She whispered in his direction. "A necromancer who would seduce an Abhorsen? Why don't you finish with me and kill me as any other would? Have your macabre pleasure and be done?"

She stared in wonder in the direction of the necromancer. _And why did I respond like that? What force guided my actions? I always think with logic, not…And why do I somehow hunger for the Free Magic of our embrace?_

"Who the hell are you?" she screamed hoarsely into the darkness, her voice redolent with the tone of Dyrim.

So, did you like it? I would so give you a cookie if you reviewed. Oh, and I'd appreciate acknowledgement about the character descriptions. I'd Fed-Ex it. (Laughs) The necromancer was supposed to be evil and hot. (He's **my** hot necromancer!)If I didn't get that across…Anyways, please review. Toodles-Siren's Voice


	2. Sweet Surrender

I'm pouting very much right now. Nobody has reviewed this fic. I'm very angry, too. (Grrr's at I'm posting this second chapter anyway. Hopefully people will read it if it's more fleshed out. So here it is, no thanks to you.

Several hours later, the necromancer returned, bearing a tray laden with food and several damp cloths.

"You poisoned it." She accused darkly as he turned to her with a hunk of bread.

"Now, don't be silly, Sorielle, love," He said lightly, but his tone grew cold and malicious. "If I'd wanted you dead, you would already be past the Ninth gate."

"You intend to kill me, though. I can see it in your face. Why bother with all the formalities? Are you too scared to kill the Abhorsen?" Sorielle sneered. "Why drag me back to life?"

"My darling, are you so eager to be enslaved as a Hand for all of eternity? Wouldn't you rather** _live_**?" The last word carried suggestions of what he called living.

"Don't answer questions with questions!" she snapped, glaring venomously. "What do you intend to do with me?"

"I intend to seduce you, have my way with you, then kill you and stuff your soul into a thousand Gore Crows." He smiled cruelly, actually toying with the notion for a brief moment. However, he had a better plan in mind, one which he didn't share with her. She shuddered in disgust and looked the other way. He reached over and held her chin, turning her face back towards him. He lifted it, forcing her to look into his eyes. 'In time, you will succumb."

"I'd rather eat horse droppings." She said chillingly, staring up into the icy blue clarity. "I will _never _give into _you_."

He squeezed her chin harder, causing her to clench her teeth in pain, then pulled her to him and kissed her savagely. She recoiled from his touch, her face cold like carved marble, but a look of absolute hatred in her eyes. He scrutinized her, cold and calculating, once again taking in the bloody cuts and bruises. He then stood up; walked back over to the tray he'd brought in and returned with one of the cloths.

He began to tenderly wipe away the encrusted stains. He gently cleansed the wound at her temple, which had bled profusely; blood had caked into her thick, raven hair. He, almost-lovingly, scrubbed the lacerations; freeing them of blood and dirt. During the entire endeavor, Sorielle kept her face devoid of emotion and her body still, not willing to show gratitude for his care. As soon as her face was clean, he grabbed some sort of salve and dabbed it onto the open cuts. It was cool to the touch, but stung as it worked its way into the wound, clearing out infection. He looked at her again; even with the bruises on her eye and cheek and her swollen lower lip, she was still quite beautiful.

"So now, Sorielle, tell me how it is that you came to be in this lovely situation." He sat down across from her, cross-legged. She considered her options and decided that she would comply. If she gave him the feeling that she was submitting to his will, then he'd have a false sense of security and that would give her a chance to escape. A necromancer's greatest weakness was usually overconfidence.

"You don't know?" she asked, regarding him with suspicion. "I was ambushed. False intelligence. I fought hard, but was tired from riding so many miles on horseback. I had laid most of the Hands to rest when I felt a strong presence from Death behind me. I turned around and stared into the fiery eyes of a newly-made Mordicant. I entered Death to fight it there. I walked it past the Third Gate. I slipped in the Fourth Precinct and didn't get back up…"

The necromancer had listened carefully during the entire story, but as soon as she gave him that look of haunted horror when she trailed off, he looked at her tired body.

"Don't you want to take off that surcoat and the armor? Here let me…"

"Anet!" she whispered fiercely as he drew near her. A tiny white knife of charter light appeared, and struck the necromancer in his shoulder, then disappeared.

"Ow! What the-" He looked angrily at Sorielle, and then rushed at her, pinning her against the column of limestone. She shut her eyes in pain as her already bruised body was rammed into the rock. He lifted her up, his hands pinning her shoulders to the column and his knee in between her legs to keep her from slipping down. For a moment, the fire of Free Magic was reflected in his eyes and they became an almost-black indigo. They snapped back into icy blue as he released her. She fell over, breathing heavily. He looked at her coldly and inspected his wound. A small trickle of blood ran from the equally tiny cut. "That was foolish of you.'

"Don't touch me." She responded in a dark tone. He smiled maliciously and spoke a Free Magic spell. It released the Free Magic-imbued cords around her wrists and suspended her body in the air. The spell had also paralyzed her from the neck down. He walked around her in a circle, inspecting. He used a broadsword to slash her blue surcoat so that it fell to the ground.

_Control your anger._ She thought. _The sendings have others at the house._

He used another spell to raise her arms above her head, then another to lift off the mail armor that she wore. She was now clothed in a brown leather jerkin, tan riding pants, and a flowing white shirt. It was an outfit that clung in the right parts and exhibited the voluptuous figure that the necromancer had assumed would be under the armor.

"See. Isn't that better?"

It was, but there was no way in hell that she was going to admit it. He released her from the spell and she dropped abruptly, limbs flailing, onto her already-sore rear end. Immediately, she was on her feet in a spell-casting stance and, just as quickly, the necromancer was behind her. He grabbed her wrists and locked her arms across her chest. She struggled and fought, thrashing her body from side to side, but was no match for his almost inhuman strength. After a minute, she stopped, but her heart beat wildly and her breathing was heavy. His bells pressed into her back. He leaned forward, his breath faintly tickling her ear. He sang a sweet, resounding note. As she fell asleep, she realized too late that it was Ranna in her ears.

When she came to, she was on top of a pile of furs. She was gagged and there were binding cords around her ankles, mid-calf, her knees, her thighs, and her wrists. Although loose, they cut into her skin, they were biting to the touch. When she looked at them she could see that they were covered in wriggling, convulsive Free Magic marks. She felt nauseous when she looked at them. She gave a dry heave; there was nothing in her stomach. She hadn't eaten since the day before the ambush, and her hunger was a ferocious monster that threatened to eat her from within. Sorielle forced herself to look up at the darkness that was proposedly a ceiling. She risked speaking a charter mark for light. It glowed faintly in the ominous darkness.

_What am I to do now?_ She wondered. _Must I wait for him to come once again and make me forget myself? I have to find my sword and bells and get out of here. _The logic in her mind presided once again. She realized that the pile of furs that she was on was most likely his bed and she tried to wriggle herself over to the opposite side of the stone room. The Charter mark followed her as she made it to the opposite wall.

_He was telling the truth about ravishing me and killing me! How am I going to escape? I have no clue where he's hidden my weapons and armor and no clue where I am even. I could call him into Death and fight him there. _She thought futilely as she realized how weak she still was. She decided that she would spend some of her strength anyway on the magical repair of her battered body. She spoke a healing spell and felt the warmth of Charter Magic healing her wounds. She felt the golden marks seeping out of her pores and knitting her skin together. When the last of the golden marks faded, including the one above her head she felt refreshed. The use of her strength had made her weary, and she curled into the corner to sleep.

When Sorielle awoke once more, she was back on the pile of furs. She lay on her side and felt a warm presence at her back. With horror, she realized that it was Him, and that he had his arms wrapped around her midsection, holding her to him. She felt his cool breath on the back of her neck.

_How the in the bloody Charter do I get him off of me? I'm all tied up…_ A brilliantly malicious idea suddenly occurred to her and she acted upon it, entering Death. Ice formed around her body in Life. The cords around her body were no longer present and she stretched for about 30 seconds, the weak First Precinct current pulling at her ankles. She felt him stirring beside her body in Life and decided that he was awake enough now. She didn't want him to become angry and come after her, so she threw her spirit back into Life.

She turned over and to face him. Her large, dark eyes peered innocently into his now-open, searing, icy-blue ones. She smiled sweetly; her cruelty lay beneath the surface, waiting to bubble over.

"Hello, necromancer." She said brightly and smiled up at him. A darkness passed over his face and he shoved her away from him. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

He glowered at her.

"No." He muttered. "Go back to sleep."

He rolled over and pulled some of the furs over his head. Sorielle watched the rise and fall of the blankets as he breathed, already asleep. She pushed herself up to a sitting position, wincing. There was no way that she could fall asleep. Aside from the gnawing hunger in her belly, she also felt stiff all over. And she had so many questions. _When he awakes_, she told herself, and waited.

Nyah-ha! You gotta review now 'cause I'm so damn good. Well, actually I don't know that…but I would if you reviewed. So do it…it's uber-simple: Go and CLICK ON THE DAMN BUTTON! Please? Thank you… (Glares doubtfully). BYE! Toodles-Siren's Voice.


	3. The Lure of Mulled Wine

Much thanks to my seven reviewers. Y'all rock! I did a little happy dance after I read each review. They make me ecstatic! Alrighty then…on to where we left off with the romance of the necromancer and Sorielle.

"Who are you?' Sorielle asked. The necromancer looked at her grumpily through sleep-bleared eyes.

"A necromancer." He replied gruffly, sitting up.

"No, I mean…what is your _name_?" He looked at her, trying to figure out her motive. Seeing no apparent one, he shrugged.

"You may call me Jasaad." (A/N: pronounced Juh-sod)

"But it's not your name."

"No." he looked at her coldly, and then smiled. "So, Sorielle, love, you are finally realizing the inevitability of falling in love with me."

He came towards her.

"Never." She replied coolly. She looked down. "Where are we?"

"My humble abode." He spread his arms out with a flourish to indicate ownership.

"Which is where?"

"My, my, Abhorsen." He said. "You do ask quite a few questions, don't you?"

He kissed her on the cheek. Then, began to travel down her neck, her open collar… She whacked him on the top of his head with her tied-together hands. He pulled back a moment, then smiled. He used one hand to hold her wrists above her head, against the wall. The other hand he slipped around her tiny waist. He straddled her bound legs, and began kissing her lips (which she would not move), her chin, traveling down the front of her neck, her throat, her collarbone. He pulled her body close to him.

"No, no. Stop that. No…Oh. Ooh!" she protested dazedly, as he left his mark on her neck. He leaned back to admire his work. She looked at him with longing and lust. She trembled slightly, aware of how close they were.

"No one's ever done that to you before." He said knowingly.

"True." She murmured. "No! Of course it's been done. I'm the _Abhorsen_. I can have any man that I want."

"But you haven't."

"Yes, I ha-ha-have." She protested weakly as he left another mark on her collarbone. "Stop!" she said, choking on the word.

"Fine. I'll just get you some food."

"I'm not hungry." Her stomach growled loudly and she winced.

"The hell you aren't. You haven't eaten in three days."

"Three days?"

"I am _not_ going to succumb and eat it." She muttered to her self as he left.

He returned with bread, cold meat, cheese, and some wine. _Oh, I do hope its mulled wine._ She thought dazedly, lightheaded from the hunger. The food was so tempting, but she couldn't give in. _Never give in._ She thought faintly. He used a butter knife to cut cheese and a piece of bread from the hearty loaf, and offered it to her. She shook her head vehemently. He waved it about in front of her nose, the aroma of the fresh cheese and the coarse, whole-grained loaf filling her nostrils, making her taste buds go insane.

"Charter damn you." She muttered and opened her mouth. He lifted the bread closer, and then pulled it away, teasing her. She glared at him briefly before he let her take an actual bite. She closed her eyes as she chewed, savoring the wholesome nourishment.

"Wine?" she asked, opening one eye. She swallowed the bread and cheese and opened the other one. He handed her the warm, earthen jug, allowing her to grasp it as best as she could with her bound wrists. She lifted it to her lips and drank deeply. The warm, spiced liquid traveled down her throat, warming her insides.

However, the small amount of food had awakened her full, monstrous hunger. She ate ravenously from Jasaad's hands. When she was finished, she looked up at him.

"Tell me, why was it that I woke up in your bed? In your arms?" she inquired suspiciously, raising an eyebrow.

"Because, love," He pulled her onto his lap, inducing an indignant squeal from Sorielle. "You are mine to have."

"I belong to no man."

"Think again, my dear." He said, and began to nibble upon her ear.

"Don't." she said in a warning tone. His lips brushed against the soft skin of her neck. "I said to stop." Her tone was icier than his eyes and colder than the North wind.

"No, my lovely, you must see…what there is between us." She sat stiffly on his lap, rigid and cold.

"Nothing. There is nothing between us and there never will be anything. I am an Abhorsen and you are a necromancer. My nature is of the warm Charter…and yours the corroding Free Magic. I-"

"Your life and mine are not so different. Free Magic still wreathes your be-spelled words."

"Yes, but unlike you, I am not corrupted by it. I use it to lay the dead to rest and you to raise them. I-"

"You are of the nature of Death, then, my Sorielle."

"I'm not yours!" she protested. He pulled her close to him and whispered in her ear.

"My nature is to bring the Dead to life. Life. And I will make you _live _as never before."

"No." she whispered. Then, spoke more firmly. "No! That is not their path. The Dead are not meant to walk in Life."

"Does the walker choose the path or the path choose the walker?" he quoted, planting a kiss on her cheek.

"That does _not_ apply!" She attempted to throw herself off of him, and ended up in a heap on the cave floor. Jasaad looked at Sorielle with amusement in his eyes. He pulled her bound form close to him, standing up with her in his arms.

"Why do you resist, my love?"

She denied him and answer and tried to struggle. He held her so tightly that it felt that she would burst from lack of air. She gave a small whimper, a combination of fear and defiance, before she gave up.

"Fine, do what you will with me." He scooped her up abruptly and dumped her onto the pile of furs. He pinned her arms above her head with one hand and spoke a Free Magic command, releasing the bonds from her legs. He straddled her, putting his other hand on her ribs, beneath her left breast. She looked up at him, for once acknowledging her fate. _No. Not like this. Not like this. _She thought desperately. _He's going to rape me. He said he'd do it and he will. What's going to happen to me after…_

Jasaad stopped and looked into her eyes, eyes large with fear. Although the concept of a necromancer with morals was inconceivable, Jasaad felt that he could not do this to this woman. Some feeling tied to the back of his mind prevented him from ravishing this Abhorsen. A feeling stronger than lust, and power, unlike any emotion he'd ever felt before. No, he could not do this. They lay like that, him hunched over her, restraining her, for about a minute. The, he got up, brushed himself off and walked away. As he disappeared out of the doorway, Sorielle sat up. She wiped the tears out of the corners of her eyes, and closed her eyes. She stretched her legs out and sighed.

_What happened? He was going to…and then he stopped. What made him stop? Bless the Charter that he did, but why? I have to get out of here before what almost happened, actually does. _She thought resignedly. _My bells. I must find my bells._ She felt through her Death sense for the instruments of her path, wrought with Free and Charter Magic. She felt them faintly, and decided it was enough to go on.

Sorielle stood up shakily, and used her Death sense to guide her through the cave, through the darkness. She stumbled blindly, with no sense of direction, only driven by her insane desire to be free. She thought she heard a faint rushing noise, like the sound of the waterfall, but dismissed it as the sound of silence.

Her death sense twitched abruptly and she felt a dark presence grow closer. _It's the necromancer! Jasaad! _She panicked and began to run in the opposite direction of the presence. The rushing noise grew louder and the stones she stepped on rapidly grew wetter and more slippery. She felt the spray of an underground river too late; she attempted to stop, but slipped on the slick rocks and plunged into the raging rapids.

Ya-ha-ha! Cliffy! Cower before my evilness! Alright, don't cower, you can bow and kiss my feet instead. Fine, I'm joking, but could you please review? I would, like, give you Jasaad's shoe if you do. So go click on the lovely lavender button on the bottom of the page if you want to see what happens, or Jasaad's shoe. Toodles-Siren's Voice.


	4. Drowning in Desire

:Mwish: Yes, indeed. Lurve the feedback. :spaz attack: SAVE ME FROM MYSELF, REVIEWS! Oh, but she's drowning…oh no. well, hmm, we'll see what happens next.

The cold, dark water tore her body, throwing her through the strong current. She felt her wrist being caught by something; Jasaad's strong, slender fingers were grasping her tightly.

He began to pull her body out of the river, but she slipped out of his grasp. He dove in as her body was dragged quickly away by the current. His arm linked around her slender waist. He pulled her limp form out of the water. Fighting the current, he swam swiftly to the bank. He threw her nearly-lifeless, soaking form onto the ground, and then pulled himself up. After a moment, she rolled onto her side and coughed the water out of her lungs. They both lay, gasping, soaked in the chilling water. Sorielle began to shudder violently from the cold water which dripped slowly off of her. Jasaad saw this and pulled her to him, he held her; attempting to warm her trembling body. When she didn't stop shivering, Jasaad scooped her up into his arms, stood up, and strode back towards the small cave in which they had previously resided.

_So. Cold. _She thought faintly, slightly aware of Jasaad carrying her back into the place where she was imprisoned. Her mind was too clouded with fog, and the numbing cold to realize that he had miraculously found it in the dark, whereas she had stumbled blindly before.

He began to strip her wet clothes from her shivering body, heedless of her delicate nudity. She was vaguely aware of this happening, but was unable to resist his advances. He wrapped her naked body in furs and held her. After a few minutes, she stopped shivering and looked at Jasaad somewhat angrily. _He caught me trying to escape and now… oh Charter! I'm naked!_

"You shit-headed bastard! You son of a whore! You-" She cursed.

"I saved your life." He interrupted.

"No, you…y-you did…" she said hesitantly, a hint of a question lingered at the end of her sentence.

"That's right, love, I did. Don't run off, dear. I'll have to bind you again. Also, we wouldn't want you to drown, now would we?" Sorielle stared insolently at him. "Now I must get out of these wet clothes, yes?"

He began to unbutton his darkly colored tunic, and then pulled it off, revealing a toned and muscled chest. Although slim, Jasaad had impressive pectorals, and toned abdominals. She nearly moaned at the sight of his bare chest, but kept quiet. She also realized that, for whatever reason, he wasn't wearing the usual bandolier and broad sword that necromancers carried. _I, the Abhorsen , am no longer a threat to him. The power I've lost. I'm so helpless._ She quickly realized what was to come next and shut her eyes as he began to unbuckle his belt. Seconds later, she heard the inevitable and unmistakable sound of his wet pants dropping to the floor.

_O, Charter! He's not wearing clothes. I must not look. I can't… _She opened one eye and gazed upon his firm buttocks in all their naked glory. She quickly shut her eyes once gain and pulled the furs tightly around her.

"Sorielle, my love, I've finished."

"I don't trust you!"

Jasaad sighed and peeled off Sorielle's hands, which had previously been clamped over her eyes. She looked at him doubtfully, and then realized that her furs were slipping.

"Charter Damnit!" She grabbed them as they were about to expose her bosom. When she was done, she looked at Jasaad and saw that he was indeed clothed, in dark apparel. There was an indescribable silence between them as they sat; Jasaad standing and staring down at her, Sorielle wrapped in her furs with a mass of black hair dripping down her back.

"I need my clothes." Sorielle said. He smiled down at her, then pulled her into a standing position, into his arms.

"My darling, your clothes are wet." He said huskily, his voice tainted with passion and suggestion.

"What are you suggesting?"

He smiled darkly, causing her to recoil slightly.

"Nothing, my sweet. Nothing at all."

"Lascivious bastard." She muttered.

"No, darling. Why is it that you run from me? So unlike the typical Abhorsen. Your bloodline uses logic, but you use emotion. You're impetuous, love; you get a notion in your beautiful head and you don't think, you just do. It will be easy to make your blood sing; it simmers softly in your veins now."

"Never."

He kissed her bare shoulder, he heart quickened.

"See?" He kissed her again. "Heated…" Another kiss. "Blood."

"No." She moaned softly, biting her lip to keep from exposing her feelings.

"Raw, my love. Raw passion." He left his mark in the hollow of her shoulder, his lips brushing against her milky, almost-luminescent flesh.

"I…no. Oh, no you don't. Get your bloody lips off of my shoulder."

Jasaad released her, but smiled knowingly. Her will was fast fading, soon, so soon, the flames would consume her.

"I know what you're thinking." She said, looking at him with a glare of suspicion. "And the answer has been, is and will always remain 'no'."

"Think again, Sorielle, love. Always is a very long time." He smirked, amused.

"Stay the hell away from me, you…you incubus.!"

He paused, considering.

"Incubus. I like that. I like it very much." He leaned in to; once again, leave his mark on her neck. She pulled away, launching herself into the darkness. Her dripping hair whipped him in the face as he grabbed her covering, she went toppling down, naked, onto the pile. He smiled at her from his lofty height. She let out a shriek of indignation as she frantically tried to wrap another fur around her naked form.

"I said stay the hell away, damn you!"

Jasaad smiled at her and left, leaving Sorielle to wonder who, exactly, was the victor in that skirmish of lust.

Ta-da! The updating is complete. I hope that you have all enjoyed this installment, and I promise to update soon. Toodles-Siren's Voice.


	5. Fools in Lust

The Siren has returned with good news…after a long break… I have found my journal! So here it is, finally, chapter 5! I'd like to remark that this chapter is where this story begins to get its M rating. So you can either back out now, or get ready for some fun. Enjoy!

Sorielle was rather unnerved as, hours later; Jasaad sat, staring at her. He had returned shortly after he left. What was unnerving was that he didn't have that lusty grin that most leering men had. He sat, with a brooding and studious expression, looking at her. She felt as if he was looking right through her with his icy blue eyes.

When he'd started, she'd glared back insolently, but now looked away. Imperceptibly, her skin was getting redder as a faint blush fell over her still-nude form. Her long hair hung in dripping tangles down her back.

_What the hell is he thinking? I'm not that interesting-looking. But he is…_she tried to stop herself. _Is this that thing that I read about in Aunt Teriel's book? The one about the human mind. Prisoners falling in love with their captors. Am I falling in love with him? It's probably the fact that I've never felt the touch of a man before and the way that he touches and kisses me…Damn it. I'm so confused. He's such a bad person, but it feels so good when he holds me. I wish he wouldn't do that; I'd be able to get away and think straight if he hurt me or something._

_Maybe if I let him have his way with me, then he'll release me. What if he didn't want to kill me? Or doesn't rather. If he really wanted to he would've done it by now. He wouldn't have just let me run away. _

_Foolish nonsense. This all foolish nonsense. An **Abhorsen **can't fall in love with a **Necromancer**. But I can't help it. Those looks…those looks contain something more than just lust. Could he possibly feel something more for me? Impossible, but could it be? _She looked at him curiously.

That look that he was giving definitely contained something more than lust, and it was being aimed directly at Sorielle right now. But what could he possibly be thinking?

_Damn. No woman has ever made me feel any emotion whatsoever. They were all mere playthings. I had my fun, disposed of them. No woman but a whore would admit to having sex with a necromancer. And, oh, to bend their malleable wills to my wants. But not this Abhorsen. She was different, stronger. She'd resisted my advances, but she felt something more for me. _His victims had always loved him for his dark beauty. Sorielle had felt something deeper.

_Damn it. _He thought.His eyes ran all over her beautiful, pallid flesh. _I'm so tired of being alone, and this woman would make me happy forever. _He was tired of paying for the sins of necromancy. He didn't want to hear only his voice echoing in the deep of this godforsaken cave. _The way she resists and makes as if she detests my affectations makes me seem as if I'm no more than a man with carnal intentions. I am, but nonetheless. She almost makes me sorry that I do feel. Love …Lust…I don't know which. I'm supposed to be in control. Not love._

Sorielle sighed. _To be loved, to be in a man's arms is something that I want, that I need. Never mind that he's a necromancer, I am hopelessly attracted to him. He's not so openly corrupt that it would be evil to do so. These thoughts are so, so wrong. Or so right. Maybe if I have my little exposure, I'll rid myself of these feeling. I just don't know, I'm confused._

Tiny tears began to well up in her eyes as she looked at him. Her still very damp hair hung down to there and her dark eyes glistened, like inky pools. His ability to control her had hurt her pride. She, the formerly in-control Abhorsen was a marionette controlled by strings in the hands of a necromancer. He jerked at her heartstrings with every expression, but he didn't seem to care.

_I'm ready to do what must be done. _Sorielle thought. She was overcome with feelings of passion, feelings that had been locked up, undiscovered, ready to be unleashed.

"Jasaad, I…" she choked out. She couldn't seem to finish what she was going to say. Instead she dropped the furs, so that they hung loosely around her waist. The taut flesh of her torso enticed, her nipples were hard in the cold, and her breasts were mountains of pale flesh. She put one hand, her slender fingers spread apart, to her chest. She was offering herself to him.

Jasaad understood immediately, nodding and smiling warmly. Sorielle held her hand to him, beckoning, and he came to her, grasping it. He moved that hand so that it was around his waist and bent down over top of her, giving her a lingering kiss on the mouth.

"Darling." He said simply. She, feverishly, almost as if in a daze, began unbuttoning his pants. He pulled back and lifted his dark tunic over his head. Sorielle ran her hands over his firm, muscled torso. He cupped her right breast, supporting his self over her, propped up on his other arm. He showered kisses down her body, from her breastbone to her navel. Her back arched in pleasure as he planted one above where the blanket covered.

She moaned softly and wrapped her arms around him, one threading through his brown hair, the other still around his back, pulling him to her. He pulled his lips to hers, their tongues entering and searching each other's mouths. Their embrace sparkled with energy, excitement. The mingling of charter and Free magic was a numbing sensation.

They rolled so that they were on their sides. Jasaad pulled her body, trembling with passion, closer to his. Sorielle attempted to finish removing his pants, but he pulled her up and bit gently on the apex of her left breast. She gasped, her heartbeat quickened.

His hands caressed the sides of her breasts, mounting her sexual attention, causing her to moan. He slipped his hands around her waist, and pulled her back down. Jasaad pulled Sorielle atop him. Her damp, dark hair covered them both and her legs straddled his. She bent down over him, her large breasts pressing against his bare chest. He pulled her closer and lest his marks across her breasts as she writhed erotically on top of him.

She'd managed to keep the fur around her waist, and beneath it, through his pants, she felt his arousal, but he didn't let her finish removing his pants. He didn't think she was ready yet, despite her body language. Already she felt exhausted; she collapsed on top of him, her head buried in his neck.

"So tired". She murmured, her lips pressing against his skin.

"Sleep." He told her. Her eyes fluttered. He let slip to lie beside him. Her arms were around his neck, her naked breasts heaved against his chest. He pulled his arms around her as she fell asleep, lying on his chest. Her left leg curled around his. "Sleep, my dark angel. My lovely."

Eventually he drifted off to sleep; with a woman he just might have feelings for in his arms. In the middle of the night, Sorielle awoke, her bare upper body exposed into the cold air. She noted with embarrassment that her naked body was across his. She pulled the fur up over her breasts with one hand, then drifted back to sleep. _At least he didn't deflower me. I'm such a fool._

When Jasaad awoke, he looked, smiling, upon the form of Sorielle leaning against him. He bent his head down and kissed her forehead, squeezing her to him for a moment. She stirred faintly in her sleep. He began to ponder his decision and his smile faded.

_Why didn't I take her? It wasn't weariness or lack of arousal. I'd never had a problem with **that**. She was ready, I was ready, and I, the enticer, the seducer, was the one to hold back. Why? Idiot. She was yours. _He'd ignored his own rules and was going to end up chasing her for a long while yet. _Fool. It'll take a while to build up the trust and passion._

He spent an hour looking at her beautiful face, pondering his decision. Finally, she awoke.

"I'm sorry." Were her first words. "I should never have let you. You didn't completely take advantage of me, but…"

She looked into his face for help, for the recovery of her lost words.

"Yes, you're right. It was a mistake."

"I know it was a mistake and I….I am?" she blinked in surprise. She'd expected lusty persuasion from her seducer.

"You aren't ready to be taken. I can see it. I can tempt you, but the temptations won't be true for a while. You must wait for your passion to completely consume you."

She sat up, clutching the fur to her chest.

"No. Absolutely. I don't feel any thing for you…"

"You thought you did." He smirked, even though he might almost admit to feeling the same way.

"I, no!" She shrieked, Shocked. "Never!" He smiled and pulled her to him. She weakly resisted as his arms enfolded her again.

"Jasaad, no." she whined, protesting. He still held her. They began to kiss passionately. Sorielle tried to pull away, but somehow found that she couldn't. _I can't help it. I'm such a fool._

The kiss deepened, and they clung to each other like lovers. They pulled apart and Sorielle lay on Jasaad as before. _I'm a fool…_

Ha-ha. I had you fooled. Well, you're going to have to wait a while longer for Jasaad and Sorielle. In the meantime, review! Please! You know how I love reviews… please! Until next time…Toodles- Siren's Voice


	6. Lover's Spat

Next chapter…well, it has the first complete fight scene and some nonconsensual action. (Malicious giggle) I really hope you enjoy this one. Sorry that it took so long. Have fun, kiddo, don't spaz about Jasaad's sexiness too long.

Disclaimer: yes, yes, Garth Nix owns blah blah, and I own Jasaad and Sorielle, but I also need to admit a tiny part of this chapter is adapted from a scene in "The Awakening" by Jude Deveraux.

"I still need my clothes. They'll be dry by now." Sorielle said, looking up at Jasaad. "I'm cold."

"Perhaps I can warm you," he murmured, leaning down to kiss her.

"Don't you dare!"

He paused. "As you wish."

She looked at him suspiciously. _Necromancers don't concede…and what the hell was last night? I… and he…but we… oh, it's hopeless. _Sorielle sighed and shrank down, somewhat, drawing into herself. She felt tiny, and helpless. Dying and Death didn't scare her, they were her life. She knew too much about them to be afraid, but, being here, in the arms of someone who, although normally vanquishable, seemed to have some sort of infinite power over her with his touch was scaring her out of her wits. Jasaad smiled down at his confused captive.

"Please?"

"Hmm..?"

"My clothes."

He reluctantly let go of her and she rolled away, dragging the top layer of fur with her. He watched as she put her clothes on swiftly and silently, quickly and quietly dragging the tunic and breeches onto her nude body. He still got pleasure out of the soft, rounded curves of her tiny body. His eyes traveled over every inch of her pale skin in the few moments before she had her clothes back on. When she finished, she turned to look at Jasaad.

"What?" she glared angrily, angrier at herself for being such an imbecile, than him for taking advantage of that fact. "Is there something that you want?"

"Only you, love. I want you."

She looked at him dully, regretting that she had even asked.

"Stop, please. I can't live like this."

"I can't stop, Sorielle, beloved. Not until I get you."

"You'll **never** have me."

"I think, my dear, that I'll have you in no time at all."

"Yes. You are like a precious, dark violet waiting to be deflowered. You are like the sweetest fruit, juicy and resting on the vine, ripe with desire, ready to be plucked from her lofty branch by the most daring gardener. You will be conquered like a new land, brazen and untamed, until the farmer sows his seeds upon her soil." He was advancing towards her, and she backed towards the wall, her dark eyes large with fright.

"Don't do this, Jasaad."

"No, this wild land cannot be conquered, nor be bought with kisses and whispered endearments, but must succumb of her own will."

"Stop." She whispered, tears choking her words and falling from her eyes. She turned, as if to run, but met the cold, stone wall .He grabbed her arm and spun her around, pulling her close to him. His mouth came down on hers with a mixture of hunger and desperation. He was desperate to confirm that last night she had been willing to give her body to him, and inevitably her heart, desperate to see if what he had possibly felt was merely the imaginings of a necromancer that lived alone in the dark.

Sorielle resisted, she didn't want to feel these emotions and urges, but was clear blue eyes darkening with passion. Maybe it was foolish, but something made her respond to him, to reassure herself, but her arms went around him, pulling him closer. His mouth opened over hers, and she tasted of his tongue, and gave to him the pleasure that he had given to her with his touch. She delved deeper into the kiss, her breasts pressed against his bare chest, her hips against his as he pressed into her. His knee moved between her legs, and Sorielle slid her body upward, letting him support her weight, with only the toe of her left foot touching the ground. Jasaad moved from her lips, his mouth searing its way down her neck.

In a daze, she noticed that his kisses didn't burn with the intoxicating taste of Free Magic. No longer did she feel that acrid metallic lightning coursing through her veins. Now, all she felt was pure, unadulterated passion, unhindered by logic, and that was what Sorielle feared the most. She pushed him away, breaking free from their embrace.

"I said stop!" she screamed, shoving him away, tearing her gaze from his lustful eyes. She didn't want to see that they might contain something else. She ran through the dark tunnels, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Her Death sense twitched and she turned right, into a cavern. She stumbled over something on the rocky floor, but this was no stone, it was her leather bandolier. She picked it up, carefully, so as not to disturb the bells. She felt around on the floor until her fingertips brushed against the hard leather of the scabbard of her Charter-spelled sword. She stood up, pulling the bandolier over her head, and buckling the sword to hang around her hips. They settled familiarly into place, much to her delight. She withdrew her sword, gripping it firmly in her hands, and lunged, fencing with an invisible opponent. Suddenly, her blade met steel. She screamed in anger and whirled around to meet Jasaad. He wore plated armor, had black leather bandolier with ebony-handled bells slung across his tall, willowy, and now-imposing form. In his hand, he held a long, black blade convulsing with violet flames.

"I won't let you leave, Sorielle."

"Step aside." She adopted a fighting stance.

"I can't do that." He countered, mirroring her motions.

"I'll kill you if you don't get the bloody Charter out of my way."

Jasaad smiled bemusedly. Sorielle breathed heavily, shaking with anger. She struck the first blow, which he parried easily.

"Hah!" She struck his shoulder, nicking the armor. She attacked him viciously for the next several minutes, but he blocked her sword, dodging and evading the blade. "Stop dodging like a coward and fight like a man!"

"I wouldn't want to hurt you, my delicate flower." He teased. This earned a shriek of rage from the flustered Abhorsen, and she flew at him. Her sword grazed his side, and his tunic darkened slightly with the crimson blood. His eyes opened wide in surprise at the sight of his own blood. He began to fight back, moving from a defensive to an offensive strategy. He parried blows and began to lunge at the enraged woman. Her tiny body made a challenging target, but Jasaad found his mark on her unprotected right shoulder. She gasped in pain, but fought on savagely. A low blow glanced off the armor on his thighs.

She was no longer overcome with emotion when she saw him in full battle regalia. Now, she saw him only as another enemy to be vanquished, another necromancer to be defeated. He didn't help, as he fought on coldly, his icy, blue eyes cold and calculating, a smile that wouldn't be swept away on his golden face, his dark brown hair falling into his eyes. In frustration, Sorielle screamed and threw herself into Death. He followed patiently. Within several moments, he was in front of her, with his sword raised above her head and his eyes burning with the dark fires of Free Magic. The violet flames writhed convulsively down the length of the blade, making her nauseated, but she met his blade, raising her ensorcelled sword above her head.

Suddenly, Jasaad's eyes snapped by to normal and he leaned down and kissed the bridge of her nose. He chuckled as she let out a shriek of shock and rage.

"How dare you!"

"The same way that you feel pleasure, yet are tormented by my touch. The same way that now I have you in my grasp. I would raise a legion of Dead to keep you. I will not let you do anything to escape and deny your true feelings."

They fenced dangerously, the spellbinding current tugging at their ankles. Nonetheless, they ignored its persistent call.

"You're despicable! You think that I'm going to stay here because of **lust**?"

"I know that you're going to stay here because of how you feel. And I feel the same way…"

"You poor, confused bastard; love and lust are entirely different…"

"I know." He whispered. He had been able to get close, and kissed her squarely on the mouth. Sorielle sensed that he was winning this skirmish of love and hate, however, the battlefield was hers. He smiled at her, his blue eyes dancing with delight.

"Who the hell do you think that you are?"

In an instant, she had stabbed deep into his right arm. In movements so swift, they seemed almost simultaneous, he was behind her. She shrieked in outrage as he looped his arms around her and kissed her neck. She hit him in the stomach with the hilt of her sword and whirled around. "Fucking incubus!"

She hurled herself at him, tackling him, her tiny form colliding with his strong, lithe one. He saw her flying through the air at him just before they sank into the gray river. They had drawn precariously near the First Gate when they had fallen in. Before they crossed it, however, Jasaad picked himself up and fished her out of the river. She came up spluttering, but was on her feet, ready for battle.

"That is the third time I have had to save you from that river." He remarked as they continued to fight.

"I don't need saving. I'd rather die than be with you." She screamed.

"Surely." He evaded a fatal. "You don't mean that."

"I…ugh." She started, and then cried out because he'd planted another tainted kiss on her lips. He quickly rang Saraneth and Kibeth in unison, paralyzing her. He scooped her up, into his arms, and carried both of their swords. She lay limply in his arms and glowered up at him.

"Don't fret, love. It was necessary to bind you."

They tromped back up the river towards Life.

How about that? Well, if you were happy to read another chapter, (or if you weren't, I'm not particularly picky.) then submit a review, please. See the lovely purple button on the bottom left of the page? Yeah? Well, click it! Toodles Siren's Voice


	7. Passionate Revelations

Alright. I know that you really want Jasaad and Sorielle to finally make love, but I'm having too much fun toying with you. Fortunately, I have good news. (I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance thanks to Geico. Joking, I'm joking.) No, my real good news is that I promise that what you've been waiting for will come soon. Not this chapter, though. But do have fun!

"I'll kill you." Sorielle muttered. She was unable to move from her position and had just been thrust back into Life.

"Yes. You seem rather hell-bent on doing that." Jasaad remarked. They stood in the cavern, their bodies dripping with melted frost.

"Have you ever considered the possibility that I don't **like** to be your captive? That I don't like to play your games of lust? Did you happen to think that I want to be **free**? In the sunlight? With other people?"

He smiled at her. "I simply couldn't allow that. Not until you confess your blossoming love for me."

"You mean allow you to deflower me? Never."

"You've never **allowed **me to do anything to you." Sorielle looked extremely miffed at this statement. "Calm down, darling."

He waved his hand, releasing her from the spell. She took a deep breath, and sheathed her sword.

"Where do we go from here?"

Simultaneously, they sank down on their knees and held their hands out, lacing their fingers through each other's.

"Now, tell me what you feel." Jasaad said calmly. It wasn't a command, but a request.

"I don't know anymore. I've been so confused since I met you. I'm not sure what to think or feel. Necromancers and Abhorsens aren't supposed to be anything but enemies. I don't know what we are. Reason and logic don't apply anymore. All the rules I've ever known, the things that that I've been taught are right and wrong seem to dissipate. It's all so…"

"What does your heart tell you?" he asked, interrupting her befuddled murmuring.

"It tells me…" She paused, closing her eyes. _Love. Hope. Wonder. Life. You. _After several moments, her eyes fluttered open, her expression unreadable. "It tells me that the feelings that I have for you cannot be denied, and yet, I know that I'll ever been taught says that we cannot love each other."

"Do you love me?" He asked solemnly. Tears were streaming from her eyes as she smiled.

"I'm not quite sure." He looked slightly disheartened, but stared deeply into her dark eyes.

"Sorielle…" She looked at him expectantly, the tears still falling down her smiling face. He hugged her before pulling back and continuing. He used his thumb to wipe away her tears as he said, "I've never wanted anyone the way that I want you. I tried to deny it at first by seducing you like any other woman, but I couldn't go through with it. I'd never saved any woman from ravishment, but I couldn't forcibly deflower you. You were special, and you fought hard, but I think that I've finally won you over. It is said that all that is good is worth waiting for. Now, I'll ask you again. Do you love me?"

"I-" she smiled. "I think I do. I do. Jasaad, I love you." She threw her arms around his neck, and his slipped his around her waist, smirking smugly. He sank down onto his knees, from his kneeling position, his plated armor clanking, and pulled her close to him. She locked her legs around his wait and began to kiss him excitedly. In a fervor, she planted kisses all over his face, then nestled her face into his neck. A small sob of happiness wracked her small body, and she felt him wrap his arms tightly around her. _I never thought I'd know a feeling like this_, she thought, content. "Your armor isn't very good for loving."

"No. I'm afraid not. He chuckled, and, for the first time, heard the glorious sound of her laughter. Despite all the horrors that she'd seen, it seemed so innocent and care free. She felt the blood of the wound on his right arm soaking through hert tunic, mingling with the blood from her own wounds.

"Oh! Oh, I've hurt you."

"Just a scratch. But you're injured…" They sat back, covered in each other's blood. "I'm sorry, love."

"Does it hurt?"

"My arm? No, my arm is rather fine." He replied. "You're handy with that sword."

"I **am** the Abhorsen." She frowned and the tension grew palpable between them. She hung her head and began to mutter profuse apologies. He leaned forward, tilting her head up and pressed his lips onto hers. He had meant only to quiet her, but the hiss deepened and Sorielle parted her lips. Jasaad searched her mouth with his tongue, and she likewise. They held each other, just kissing. Jasaad would have ravished her on the floor, in that instant, but she deserved better.

He picked her up, carrying her across the doorway, like a husband caries his wife, and carried her through the caves. She threw her arms around his neck and smiled up at him.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Back to bed; where you belong."

She laughed and leaned her head against his strong chest. _I don't know if I'm making the right decision, but somehow I don't think that I'll regret it. Damn the Charter, I'll be selfish. A woman of my age should know these things. I expect that most woman who have twenty-six summers already have husbands. Not to commit myself, but it would be nice. I'll just ignore my Abhorsen duties, for now._

They entered the chamber where Sorielle had spent many of her days fighting off his advances, only to succumb to what was impossibly true love. The impossible had happened, an Abhorsen had fallen in love with a necromancer, darkness and light, good and bad, pure and tainted, would collide under the awesome power of love.

Jasaad set Sorielle on her feet. She stood shakily, trembling, then leaned against him.

"What…what is it like?" she murmured timidly, scared and excited by the gift that she would give. He smiled down lovingly at the petite woman.

"So you **are** a virgin. Just as I suspected." She hung her head abashedly, ashamed to acknowledge her lack of experience.

"Yes."

"You have no real perception of this concept."

"I,I know what goes on between a man and a woman in bed!" she exclaimed furiously.

"Shh, sweetheart." He quieted her, then bent down to her height, so that they were eye level, and looked into her eyes. "It will hurt."

She bit her trembling lip and nodded. He held her to him and said, "Nothing that I can do will stop that, but I promise I won't be forceful. I'll be as tender as you need. This is all for you, my love."

She smiled and whispered, "I know, but can I trust you…"

"I'm not really asking you to trust me, love."

"I do."

Yeah, I know that it was a chapter filled mostly with dialogue, but you can obviously see what it was leading up to. The reason why I didn't have it as a part of that next chapter was because it would've taken to long to read. So, until next time… ToodlesSiren'sVoice


	8. Love's Intoxicating Embrace

Okay. This is it…what you've all been waiting for… Mind you, it's the first time I've written a complete love scene. I really hope you guys love it and I'm sorry that I made you wait, but I think that it'll be worth it. Enjoy!

They quickly removed their bandoliers and unbuckled their swords, Jasaad threw off his armor, and then, Sorielle paused, unsure of what to do next. She began to lift her blood-stained tunic over her head, but Jasaad stopped her. He took her hands and placed them on his neck, then placed his on her ribcage, beneathher tunic. She let out a moan of passion as he felt up, up, up and held her breasts; cupped in his hands. He stroked her nipples until they grew hard and sensitive. She was breathless with excitement.

"Let's have a look at you." He lifted her tunic above her head, and threw it across the room. She did the same to him. Sorielle ran her hands over the wounds that she had given him, and kissed them, but stopped as he murmured, "Oh, but you're much more interesting."

As he said "much", he leaned forward and began to nibble on her ear, causing the last part to be mumbled. He traced to outline of her earlobe with the tip of his tongue, making her squeal as she ran her hands up the hard muscles of his abdomen. He made his mark on her neck, as he had so many times before. She raked her fingers through his bark brown hair.

"Oh, don't make me wait any longer."

He smiled and shook his head. _No_. Leading her over to the pile of furs, he laid her down on them. She arched her back erotically, falling back limply, allowing him to carry her. He hunched over her as she laid her down, pulling her breeches down with his teeth. She kicked them off delightfully as he pulled them to her ankles. He pulled himself back overtop of her. He began to kiss her lips. His tongue poked at her lips, she parted them, and they began to search each other's mouths, tingling with sexual energy. Their veins coursed with the crackling lightning of passion, her eyes alight with it, his darkened with it.

He started to kiss down her neck and throat, her breast bone. He nipped at the taut flesh around her belly button, then looked up at her and grinned. He cupped her breasts in his slender fingers, stroking them, caressing her passion-hardened nipples, and shifted them as if measuring their innumerable worth.

"I think I'm rather pleased with what I've gotten into" He grinned again. Sorielle's breathing and heart rate caught, and then sped up.

"Oh, Jasaad, don't be so cruel!" she moaned. "Please take me; I'm not afraid anymore."

"Not yet." He told her. He hunched over her, and then bent down, drawing her lower lip into his mouth, then releasing it. She moaned again, she was now trembling with anticipation.

"Please!"

He continued where he left off, kissing down her flat abdomen, the soft hairs of her pubic area, and then he found her special spot.

"Oh!" She shrieked in pleasure. He sucked heard, making her feel hot all over, even in the cold damp of the cave. Her eyes were open wide in surprise and wonder. His tongue was entering her vagina. _Oh Charter_. She didn't know what to do with her hands, and clenched and unclenched the top fur blanket in her fists. She brought her knees up his ears and arched her back instinctively. She locked her ankles around his neck and pulled him toward her as he removed his breeches. She saw his arousal and smiled as seductively as she could, then slid her legs down to rest on his thighs. They smiled at each other, him to let her know it was time, and her to show him that she was more than ready.

She let out a small whimper as he plunged within her, but when he entered her fully, and she screamed in ecstasy. This exquisite pain, pleasure and glorious pain all rolled into one spectacular explosion. The pain left, only fulfillment remained. He felt hard within her, so wonderfully filling, and she shrieked in delight as he began to move atop her with a grinding rhythm. She sighed in passion as he rolled over, pulling her on top of him. Astride his firm manhood, the rhythm seemed as natural as riding a horse, something which she did rather well.

Jasaad sat up, groaning in pleasure as Sorielle wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. He pushed himself atop her again, laying her back onto the furs. He thrust himself deep inside her, rocking her very core with terrifying, wonderful explosions. She breathed harder and screamed louder with every one. He released himself and finally he withdrew, leaving her trembling.

She didn't want it to end, so she entwined her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him to her, laying an intoxicatingly sweet kiss upon his lips. Her tongue pushed insistently into his mouth as her passion-bruised lips pressed against his. He allowed her to drag him back down to her, and again he sucked on her lower lip, drawing it into his mouth slowly, and then releasing it. Her eyes fluttered, half-closed, as her mouth sought his. He pulled back for a moment, traced the outline of her lips with his tongue, and she kissed him deeper than before, her tongue working with the fervor of a thousand Clayrs' imaginations.

He laid kisses down her collar bone, and then took the firm nipple of her right breast into his hot, wet mouth. He sucked on it, and then bit it lightly, tormenting her so deliciously. She arched back, kneeling up, and he laid kisses in a line from her navel to her breast bone, and then repeated what he did with her right breast to her left. She let out another shriek of passion as he made his mark on her chest. He filled her completely, body and soul, supplying all that she needed physically and emotionally. He held her hands back onto the pile of furs, their fingers interlocked, intertwining, threading, laced together. After an eternity, he released her, but his hips were still aligned with hers. They breathed as if they shared one body, and one soul. He reluctantly rolled over, and allowed her to rest atop him.

She trembled violently beside him, and he held her for the longest time to quell the vibrations. She stopped shaking, he kissed her fingertips and at looked up at the man she loved and murmured, "Was I a good violet to be deflowered?"

"No, love, you were great."

She smiled wearily, "I never imagined that it would be so wonderful."

"I suppose it is when you're with the one that you want."

She laid her head against his firm chest, spent, exhausted. He kissed her chastely on the forehead, and then rested his chin on the top of her head. They soon fell asleep, consumed with each other's passion.

Okay. If loved that, or if you want to scream at me for making you wait so long for nothing, then REVIEW! Really, I live off your reviews, so don't kill me by forgetting. Love y'all- Siren's Voice


	9. Awakening

So I'm back…and glad that you liked my first ever sex scene1::cheers for self: I promise that there will be more to come and that the plot will be more than just sex fluff (yay, plot!) Have fun, kids!

Jasaad awoke first, stretching his arms out, and then looking at the beautiful, milky-skinned woman lying against him. He smiled, satisfied. Since the moment he had looked into her dark, entrancing eyes, he had wanted to do what he had just accomplished last night. After it was over, he decided that he had just confused passion with something deeper, that he couldn't have been thinking with his heart, but that other, nether organ. He decided that Sorielle had been reacting to the moment when she said that she loved him, and he wanted to make her confusion clear to her as soon as she awoke.

Soon, her sooty-lashed eyes fluttered open and she smiled at him.

"I lo-" she began to whisper, but he silenced her, shaking his head "no" and putting his fingers to her lips. She frowned, befuddled by the gesture. "Jasaad, I do! I love you."

"You're confused, sweetheart."

"No, I'm not. Last night… you told me…and I never would have unless…" she trailed off, stammering angrily. She pulled back from him, rocking back on her heels, and glared. Jasaad sat up, leaning back against two furs that had, sometime during the night, been converted into pillows.

"Come now, love. You don't honestly believe that you're in love with me, do you? I'm a necromancer for Orannis' sake." He smirked, tugging on her arm playfully, trying to entice her back to bed. She firmly resisted with her old strength, although sorely tempted.

"I did." She said coldly. She rose, wrapping a fur around herself. "It was stupid to think that a necromancer like could understand the feelings of a woman like me. You are a cold-hearted, apathetic, ignorant liar!"

"I'm not a liar." He told her, bemused. "I never said that I loved you; I said that I **wanted** you. I had hoped that a grown woman such as yourself could understand that. I made my intentions clear from the beginning."

"In the beginning, you did."

"What in the Charter is that supposed to mean?" he snapped, no longer, bemused, but angry. Sorielle shrugged indifferently.

"Only that I know how I feel about you and I realize that you are in denial of your feelings towards me. Now, where is the food? I'm hungry and I want breakfast."

"I am not in denial that I feel **lust **over your lovely body. I would, in fact, like to take you every moment of every day; unfortunately I don't think that you have the energy or the capacity to handle that, as spirited of a lover as you are. Darling, I want my body to be covering yours right now, but it might just make you go insane. You would be overwhelmed and in far over your head if I made love to you as often and as hard as I want to."

"Where is the food?" she repeated verbatim, in a controlled tone. Jasaad smiled in recognition of the fact that she was fighting very hard not to let him have his way; the trembling of her lower lip gave it away, but stood up anyways. Sorielle nearly gasped at the sight of his nude male-parts, knowing that they had been in her last night, he had been in her, on her, all over her, kissing her, whispering sweet endearments in her ears, touching her… but she kept her composure. The sight of his lithe, naked body sent her into a sprawl of urges that were nearly enough to make her forget her angry words and run into his arms.

_How does he do this to me? I'm supposed to be in control. Now, my sword and bells are in reach, but I can't bring myself to vanquish him. Damn him. I wish I had never been ambushed. I have to get out of here, because I do feel the way I do, and it's making me insane. Dear Charter, why did our paths cross? I can't continue to love him, or pick at his feelings for me, beneath that cold shell. I'll stay, but soon I'll leave. Soon enough, or I'll go crazy with love. _

Jasaad put his trousers on, much to Sorielle's relief, and strode purposefully toward her. He wanted to force her to say what he thought she should be feeling.

"What's the use breakfast, love? The only thing I'm hungry for is you."

His hands encircled her small waist, and he began to nibble playfully on her. His lips brushed further down, on her neck, where he had made his mark many a time the night before, and the spot tingled. She drew in a shuddering breath, then gained courage and thrust him away.

'You're too proud, Abhorsen. Let's not fight."

"No let's!" she assumed a spell-casting stance, inadvertently dropping her furs, and screamed out, "Anet! Calew! Ferhan!"

The three charter marks appeared as tiny white blades and struck Jasaad with more force than they should have. _So, her emotions are feeding her powers. _Jasaad thought to himself as he staggered back. She rushed at him, a flurry of fists, but he dodged her angry attacks and caught her hands. She fell against him, sobbing, and he held her.

"You do things to me that no one else can; things you say, just the sound of your voice, your hands…and I can't avoid the inevitable feeling that is so obviously love. How do you dare? How can you? I don't understand you, yet I'm falling…" she wept bitterly, hot tears spilling from her eyes.

"I can do things again to you tonight." He whispered suggestively into her ear. Infuriated, she shoved her way out of his arms and stormed away. He called after her, laughing, "Sorielle, love, it was merely a jest. I'm sorry if I offended you."

She didn't acknowledge him. _Angry is good. _He thought. _Better than that simpering weepy side. _He was thinking these cruel thoughts as he denied to himself the truth; that he wanted all sides of this wonderful creature that had fallen into his grasp.

Disgusted, Sorielle called forth a Charter light as she stormed through the vast, winding halls of the cave. _I can't believe I let him get under my skin again._ The Charter mark bobbed slightly ahead of her as she strode angrily, brushing away tears. _Damn him! Damn the world, as if I give a damn, but I only wanted his love. I can't even have that. And now I'm running through these damned tunnels in the damn nude._

_She's not bloody thinking straight. I'll give her respite, for today._ He rushed after her, realizing that she was completely naked, and claiming a fur for her when he abruptly turned around. Swiftly, he caught up to her, tracking her through the dark tunnels; like a vampire stalking his victims. As he reached her, he spun her around and caught her wrists.

"I really am sorry, my darling." He pulled her toward him, towering over her small naked form. He quickly wrapped the fur around her and lifted up her chin, so that her inky eyes stared into his glacier-like ones.

"I'm not sure I can forgive you." She replied somberly, her chin held up stubbornly.

"If I promise to control myself, and to release you in two days totime, will you forgive me?"

"Yes." She replied, after a time. "Yes, I believe I shall."

He quickly lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the cavern where they had spent the previous days and nights. He sent her down gently on the pile of furs and stacked wood in the center of the room. Sorielle spoke a Charter ark and reiterated the mark with her fingers, causing it to burst into flame.

"There now, that's the thing I **do** like about Charter Magic; smokeless fire.'

"Yes, us Charter Mages do have that advantage." She jested, smiling. He put a pot over the fire, filled it with water from a goatskin sack, and put dried herbs and meat from a saddle pack that rested nearby into it.

As the stew simmered, Sorielle looked around, noticing for the first time, in the light, that the walls and ceiling were made of sparkling crystal, a dark, clouded amethyst. Jasaad's eyes rested on her.

She was a raven-haired goddess, with those dark soulful eyes, and her tiny, yet voluptuous form. She appealed to him in a way that no woman ever had before. Her combination of spirit and vulnerability, courage and delicacy, beauty and strength, was like a drug, intoxicating his senses, but he had made a promise and he has determined to keep it.

What as unsaid in the silence made Sorielle uneasy. The tension was palpable.

"So, Jasaad, where a-are you from?" she suddenly blurted out.

"Far away from here."

"Oh, so you're not native to the Old Kingdom."

"No, I've only lived here since I was twelve years old." He smiled warmly at her and said, "Mi amor, quiero besar tu boca todo los días de mi vida. Tu boca es un rosal ser sacó."

She laughed. "What is that supposed to mean?" He leaned over and whispered it into her ear. She looked at him with raised eyebrows and a smile playing upon her lips. She was so beautiful when she smiled, and he decided that he wanted to keep her that way. Standing up, he gathered her clothes, which were randomly strewn across the cavern, and gave them to her. "Will you teach me to speak your language?"

"As you wish, m'dear."

The rest of the day and the subsequent day were spent in laughter. Sorielle's ungraceful attempts to speak his native language, yielded many playful kisses, but eventually a diligent pupil who learned to sing a folk song, and together they sang the duet of lovers. That night was spent in extravagant lovemaking; the previous night's endeavors had not even breeched the surface of Jasaad's ability to pleasure her body, and in turn, hers to pleasure his.

At long last, the eve of Sorielle's departure arrived, and emotions and words left unsaid threatened to overflow.


	10. Hatred & Desire

This chapter was one of the ones that I had trouble writing because of what happens (I get all sad). Oh, and I sort of based part of it off of a scene from Judith McNaught's "Perfect". I find that parts of that story really connect with this. It's a romance novel that I would definitely recommend reading. But I've lost my point…I'll let you continue reading this lovely fic.

As Jasaad ate supper, Sorielle watched him with love in her eyes. Tonight was their final night with each other and she was certain that he would admit to her how he truly felt.

As the meal ended, she smiled at him and said, "I love you."

He gave her a bored look.

"I told you I didn't want any of that foolishness."

"Foolishness?" she demanded, enraged. "You know perfectly well that you feel the same way."

"No, I don't. I thought that I'd explained that to you clearly. You know, Sorielle that two adults can have a purely sexual relationship without falling in love."

"The hell that is what this is! I love you, and if you can't admit it, then…then…NO SEX FOR YOU!"

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, grabbed a fur from the pile, and stalked off to the room where her weapons were located. When she reached the room, she spread out the fur, pulled off her breeches and boots, and lay down.

She was too angry to sleep and sat, fuming, thinking, _I'm leaving in the morning, then I'll never have to see him again. I love him, and if he can't admit it, then he can live without me. Forever._

In the other cavern, Jasaad finished his supper in silence. When he was finished, he cleaned up the mess and stored the remnants of Sorielle's meal. As he stripped down in preparation for sleep, (A/N: fangirl-esque squeal) a stunning revelation sunk in.

_Sorielle though that she was in love with me and she still thinks that I'm in love with her, and that I needed her. That's why she thinks she can forbid me from her bed. I'm the one that controls her._

He swore up a storm. He didn't need Sorielle, and he sure as hell didn't need the added guilt and responsibility for a naïve Abhorsen who didn't know the difference between sexual desire and that nebulous emotion called love. There was nothing between them except for sex, which they both wanted and she was denying them out of some immature urge to retaliate.

_Well, the stupid girl was about to be proven wrong._

Sorielle was in the middle of contemplating what to do not if, but when Jasaad reneged on his promise to release her from captivity the next morning, when he stalked into the chamber where she had hidden herself, stark naked.

"What in Charter's name do you want?" she demanded, determinedly looking only into his face, into the piercing blue of his eyes, which where now dark indigo with anger.

"That question," he mocked, angrily starting to rip her clothes off with a sadistic grin on planted firmly on his face, "is about as asinine as your decision to sleep in here because I won't come to heel."

Infuriated, Sorielle flung her self across the room from his and scrambled to her feet, trying to bolt diagonally for the exit. He caught her as her feet crossed the threshold, and locked her against his chest.

"Let go of me, damn you!"

"What I fucking want," he informed her, belatedly answering her earlier question, "is the same thing that you want every time you look into my eyes."

Sorielle looked back up at him and stopped struggling, saving her strength for her next move. "You fucking bastard! If you even think of raping me, I'll run you through with your own sword and bring you past the Ninth gate myself."

"Rape you?" he reiterated with icy scorn. "I wouldn't dream of it. No. In fact, within three minutes time, you'll be begging me to make love to you."

"NEVER!" she screamed, striking just as his mouth seized hers. She brought her knee up into his groin and screaming as she missed, landing on the floor, on her back, beneath his body.

Instead of retaliating for the unsuccessful attack on his man hood by ramming himself into her, which she fully expected him to do, Jasaad tore the rest of her clothing from her body. She felt him slide his fingers into the hair at the junction of her thighs, probing very lightly, starting to massage and caress with unerring skill.

_He's not going to force me. He wants my full cooperation, and I'll be damned if I'm going to give it to him. Nothing could be more damaging to my pride than not being able to claim helplessness. _She felt her body begin respond in the now-familiar way. _I'm responding against my will. I'm such a fool. I'm a stupid whore of an Abhorsen who can't help herself_. _I can't let myself surrender and capitulate completely._

"Get it over with, damn you."

"Why? So you can call me a rapist as well as a necromancer and an incubus? No damn way." He breathed in a whisper as cold as his heart. His finger searched deeper, moving. His mouth closed over her nipple, tongue circling, lips tugging, and she screamed in protest. Unwillingly, she bucked her hips beneath his hand, and he laughed, in a bemused, sadistic fashion, sliding his finger deeper inside of her so that she rode it. Sorielle stopped abruptly, tensing every muscle in her body to resist what he was doing to her. Angry tears slid from the corners of her eyes and rolled back into her streaming raven hair. He never stopped, even as she clamped her legs together, forcing her treacherous body to betray her, his intense gaze fixed upon her face every moment of the time.

"You're soaking wet." He informed her coldly, and not even the calculating heartlessness of what he was about to do her could quell the maddening stabs of desire beginning to jolt her. "Do you want me, Sorielle, love?"

_Yes, I want you inside of me. Yes, I so badly want the climax that I know you can give me. I want it so badly I feel like I'm going to die._ Instead, she gasped, "Go to hell!"

"I'm in hell, darling." He whispered, moving his body up along hers and kissed her, forcing her lips to open to him. He gentled the kiss abruptly, his lips moving over hers with intensifying hunger as he sensually moved his hips. The movement caused her to be aware of his firmly erect manhood. "Tell me that you want me." He coaxed, grinning smugly.

_I can't give him the satisfaction._ She thought, but trapped beneath the exquisite promise of his erect body and the driving persistence of his mouth down her neck. Her body betrayed her, shaking with uncontrollable need, and the words tore out of her in a tormented sob. "I…want…you."

The moment that she surrendered, he drove into her, circling his hips hard, driving her to a shattering climax in a matter of seconds. He pulled out while her body was still wracked with shudders and lifted off of her, shrugging free of her tortured embrace. "Three minutes was all it took," he told her, stalking back over the threshold.

For several minutes, Sorielle lay exposed to the cold, damp darkness, her body wracked with sobs as tears rolled down her cheeks. _I see now; that he has no use at all for me except for my body. I'm not supposed to think, I'm not supposed to feel; I am merely to amuse him when he's bored and lonely and spread my legs for him whenever he's in the mood. I cannot continue to live like this. This must be exactly what he does to his other female victims, except afterwards, he kills them and makes them hands. I wish that I were past the Ninth Gate now. Tomorrow, I go back to being the Abhorsen, and he goes back to being a necromancer. No matter how much I love him, I'm never again subjecting myself to this humiliation. Never._

_Well, I've done it. _Jasaad thought to himself._ I'm unable to stop the serial seduction of women. Thank the makers that my necromantic instincts didn't just take over and let me turn her into a Shadow Hand. _

He sat down on the fur pile and rested his head in his hands, trying to accept numbness. He had done what he'd set out to do and then some; he had proved that he didn't need her and that she wasn't worth caring about or worrying about after she left the next morning. Brilliantly, eloquently, indelibly, he had executed his plan.

_She'll never feel anything but hatred towards me after tonight. She'll hate me, but not nearly as much as I hate myself. I despise what I've done, this unprecedented weakness that is making me want to beg for her forgiveness._

He attempted to settle down to sleep, in the pile of furs, but found that he couldn't not with the knowledge that Sorielle was in the other chamber, hating him.

It's so sad...and for a whileI must warn that it gets worse. Don't stop reading! There's more seductions to come! luv y'all. Toodles- Siren's Voice


	11. Bittersweet Goodbyes

I'm so sorry… all those sad reviews. I didn't mean to do this to them, but I guess it had to happen. Don't worry, have faith in their love and I promise it will work out fine. Hold on to your hearts, because here comes Chapter 11.

Sorielle had spent most of the rest of the night with angry tears spilling down her cheeks. _Never again am I going to cry over him._ She decided upon her awakening. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up, her back aching since she had fallen asleep on the hard, rocky stone floor.

Being in the armory chamber, she had used a Charter mark to assemble and put on her Charter-spelled sword and bells. Upon completing this, she exited and went to find Jasaad. She found him lying on his back with reddened eyes atop the pile of furs.

"Jasaad." She whispered. He didn't move, except for the tightening of his mouth into a grimace. "Hey!"

She kicked him in the side and, ever so slightly, he turned his face towards her. There were dark circles beneath his red-rimmed eyes, eyes which contained a tragically mournful expression.

"Don't go."

"No. I have to. I just wanted to tell you that I love you…and hate you. I cannot continue to live this way." She started to choke up, and the tears started to well up in her eyes. Jasaad stood up abruptly, and crushed her to him. She sobbed into his chest and held her for what seemed like an eternity. "No…" she sobbed. " I have to tell you that I'm the Abhorsen and you're a necromancer and this is forbidden."

She burst into deep, body-wracking sobs and he squeezed her tighter to him.

"Sorielle, I am so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I truly am. I want you to know that you're right about me."

She hugged him back now, and he winced. _But I thought he said…_

"Bells." He groaned in pain as if reading her mind. She noticed that something was pressing against his groin. She jumped back.

"Oh, I'm sorry!"

"It's fine." He raised his eyebrows at her, touched by her genuine worry.

"I'm…" she wiped off her tears with the back of her hand. "I'm going to stay a while yet. I think I'll put this," She gestured to her sword and bells, "back."

She fairly skipped out of the room, leaving Jasaad smiling at her back. As she left, he tucked his navy-hued tunic into his dark brown breeches, which were in turn tucked into black kidskin boots. _Maybe she will stay, if she doesn't remember her duties. Maybe forever._

Using a Free Magic spell, he conjured up a dark rip in the air that functioned as a mirror. _Damn, I really do look terrible. Only for her…_ he grumbled and snapped his fingers, causing the mirror to vanish. Suddenly a scream echoed from the dark recesses of the cave.

A greasy-looking necromancer with long, tangled gray hair had come out of nowhere; somehow he had discovered a way into the caves. Accompanying him was a ragtag band of Hands and two Shadow Hands, who were visibly itching to get their hands on her life.

Quickly, her hands reached for Ranna, plucking it swiftly out of its pillbox-sized case. As she rang the bell, she sang the note; this imbuing it with more strength than the bell alone. The Hands collapsed, their black spirit forms disembodied and writhing on the ground. Sorielle rang the bell again, and the spirits vanished into Death, leaving behind the rotting, putrid corpses and their stench. The Shadow hands moved towards her, drifting by the walls of the cavern. Before they could reach her and claim her life, she rang Saraneth, stopping them in their tracks; paralyzed.

Her face was cold, devoid of emotion, utterly expressionless, as she rang Kibeth and Ranna in perfect unison. The Shadow Hands dissipated. She faced the necromancer, holding her sword up in challenge.

"Necromancer, I know not who you are, or your purpose, but I tell you know, be warned."

"What manner of necromancer are you?" he inquired, looking at her curiously.

"I am the Abhorsen, you bloody fool." She muttered. His eyes, dark with the flames of Free Magic, flicked to her sword. Upon seeing the Charter-ensorcelled blade, his eyes opened wide in recognition. Without warning, he flew at her, his sword raised high.

Jasaad was running down the tunnels, breathing heavily, sword in hand. Sorielle had never screamed like that in all the time that he'd known her, nothing he'd done to her had made her scream (A/N: well, not in that context anyway), he'd thought that she was fearless until this. He rounded the corner, encountering Sorielle as the necromancer raised his blade and struck down with impossible force. The blow had struck her blade at an odd angle, sending a jarring sensation up her arms. She gasped, thankful that the blow had been parried. The necromancer hacked at her again, this time forcing her to her knees. A third blow, and she fell to the ground, her sword clattered out of her hand and skidded across the rocky floor.

The necromancer's steel blade was at her throat, she could feel its heat on her neck, as it was imbued with Free Magic. A shuddery breath escaped from her lips, but she gazed up in defiance. _Fear. Oh, Charter. I'm going to die by the hand of a petty necromancer. Oh shit!_ The necromancer raised his blade high above her head and she looked up in fearful resignation. _If only I'd left Jasaad. I love him; I do, but is it worth dying over? It is, but I would've survived if I had been active in my duties…instead of rolling about under the covers. Love and Death. So be it, I'll die for him. For love. There's not much choice now._

As the necromancer began to bring the blade down, Sorielle closed her eyes. She cringed as she heard a loud **thwack**, afraid that it was the sound of her own head being lopped off. However, it was the sound of steel meeting steel, not flesh.

Jasaad had leaped forward at the last moment, blocking the blow with his own sword, violet flames rolling down its blade.

"Don't touch my woman!"

He attacked the necromancer viciously, hacking away at him like a woodcutter hacks at a tree. He was moving so fast that it was hardly believable, and Sorielle backed away from the fight.

"Ah, Jasaad, the very man that I was looking for. Do you very often keep Abhorsens in your caves?"

Jasaad ignored him, but continued to fight with renewed vigor.

"Especially a weak one like her. I thought that you favored conquering strong woman, and enslaving them as Hands. Although, her reputation was a bit extensive…"

"I was out of practice!" Sorielle snapped, hopping to her feet.

"Quiet, you!" the necromancer staved off Jasaad while he cast a restrictive spell on Sorielle. Bands of a shadowy substance appeared around her ankles and wrists, and a gag of the dark substance appeared in her mouth. It tasted like bile and she choked as the restrictive spell forced her to lay stricken on the floor. "Now, Jasaad, we really must attend to the purpose that I was sent here for by-"

As the spell was lain and before the last word was said, Jasaad struck the sword out the necromancer's hand, and plunged his sword through the necromancer's abdomen. The dark blood seeped through his shirt as Jasaad pulled his sword out.

"Rot in your own filth."

The necromancer looked at him in shock and anger as he sank to the floor. Blood filled the necromancer's mouth and a stream of it dripped out of the corner of his mouth as his eyes glazed over and the couple felt his soul sink into the First Precinct. Jasaad went over to where Sorielle had fallen to the ground. He helped her to sit up, then waved his hand and spoke the counter spell, releasing her from the bonds.

She rubbed her wrists, and then leaned into Jasaad's chest as he wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. After a moment, she leaned back and stood up. Jasaad looked at her imploringly, but she brushed past him towards the corpse. She removed the bandolier of bells, strange and biting to the touch, and prepared the body. Standing in a spell-casting stance, she spoke and signed the Charter marks to cremate the body. Random parts of the body spontaneously caught fire, burning slowly during the immolation due to the saturation of Free Magic. At long last, it was nothing but ashes. Sorielle lay the final blessing upon them and turned to Jasaad. He cast her a rueful smile.

"I could've used that, you know." He jested. She didn't laugh, but a somber, mournful expression appeared on her face. His face fell as it he realized it. "Darling, what's wrong?"

"Before I met you, Jasaad, I could've vanquished that necromancer with no effort at all. I was so strong, and then you had to save me…"

"And I'll save you anytime that you need, love."

"That's just it. That's the point. I'm not supposed to need saving. I'm the Abhorsen. All this time I've forsaken my duties and it's gotten my heart broken…"

"-and put back together." He interrupted.

"…my life nearly taken away and my people's lives endangered. My cousins and the kingdom have got to be worried to death about me. Poor cousin Myrael, the Abhorsen-in-Waiting and I haven't taught her what she needs to know in order to fulfill my duties. I cannot be here any longer."

"Don't forget that I saved you from Death…and quite a few times over if I recall correctly." Jasaad's voice had grown cold. "And you said that none of that mattered."

"I could've gotten **you** killed! That necromancer would've found you and killed you. You would've been a bystander, a tragic death from the fray of my line of duty."

"First, Sorielle, love, you forget that I can take care of myself. And two, that necromancer was one of **my** enemies. You would've been the bystander caught in my fray." He retorted angrily, his voice growing steadily louder.

"As if that makes me feel any better!" she spat out. "Jasaad, I have to go. There is nothing you can say that will persuade me otherwise. I must fulfill my duties to the kingdom and as…"

"I love you."

She froze, unsure of how to respond. Blinking back tears, she stared at him and took a deep breath.

"I love you, too, but I must go, unless you want to come with me…but I cannot stay in this cave and forsake what I was meant to do."

"And I, my dear, cannot do that. As much as you mean to me, I cannot give up my ways. I cannot follow you around like a consort or a sidekick while you thwart the ambitions of evil. If you love me, then you will stay."

"How dare you manipulate me like that! I will not stay as you lover while you are creating armies of the Dead and unleashing them upon innocents, and you, obviously, do not love me enough to stay by my said as I fulfill my duties to the kingdom."

"Yes, I suppose that we are at an impasse, then. What do you propose, **sweetheart**?" he mocked her cruelly.

"I'm leaving. And I'm not changing my mind this time. Now let me go." She fairly screamed at him.

"I'll lead the way." He snapped, turned on his heel, and began to storm briskly through the darkness. Sorielle ran to catch up, walking quickly behind him. For nearly an hour, he led her through the maze of tunnels, until; at last, Sorielle could see light streaming from a stone doorway. As they neared the doorway, Jasaad turned to her.

"Goodbye, Sorielle. I will miss you. But this evidently cannot be."

"I love you, Jasaad. Don't come across my path ever again. Goodbye…forever."

She turned and headed through the doorway, emerging into the glaring afternoon sunlight. She gasped and used her arm to shield her eyes from the brightness. It had been about two weeks since she'd last seen the sun.

She'd had love, loss, joy, and sadness in so many ways since then, but now it was time to go back to the life she knew before him. Before Jasaad.

They are separated...damn, that makes me so sad. I know that you're praying that it isn't the end. I promise life will go on for our favorite characters, no matter how bad life may seem. So here's to Chapter 11, my Holiday Present to you, and the last chapter of 2005.


	12. Honey

Sorry it's been so long; my muse got annoyed and left me. He just returned. This is the first chapter that I've ever written as a song fic and posted. So, here it is. I cried when I started writing it because the song is really sad. It's called "Honey" and it's by Bonnie McKee. Here's chapter twelve…

It had been almost a year since it had happened; since she'd fallen in love, since she'd gotten her heart broken, since she'd had to leave him. The pain of loss still hurt her.

When she had left, she'd found an old farmhouse on the edge of the Great Sickle Woods and borrowed an ancient plow horse from the equally ancient couple that owned them. For days, she'd traveled towards the Abhorsen's house with little to no food; only what she'd found or hunted on the side of the winding road. At long last, she'd made it to the House, wearily leaped across the stones in the Ratterlin, and finally crossing the threshold into the eastern courtyard.

"Hello, puss." She muttered, collapsing in fatigue on the stone tiles. Mogget had been sitting, licking his one white paw, as if he'd been waiting for her, and continued to do so, as she lifted her head and looked at him. "Miss me? Care if I died?"

"Coils within coils, Sorielle. You know full well that I would know if the bells were passed to Myrael."

She groaned and rolled on her back, too tired to respond to Mogget's sardonic answer. "Mmm. Tell the sendings to…"

She fell asleep before she could finish the sentence, but miraculously found herself in the four-post bed in the master bedroom when she awoke the next morning. The sendings had evidently stripped off her boots, bandolier, and blade, and slipped her beneath the covers. Upon awakening, she removed her clothes and trudged into one of the bathrooms. Her hair fell into her eyes as she leaned over to turn on the faucet. She wrinkled her nose up in distaste at the smell of sulfur, but adjusted to it after a few moments. After the bathtub filled with steamy hot water, Sorielle plunked her big toe into it. She gasped at the near scalding temperature, but immediately immersed her body in the water, ignoring the stinging sensation of water on her partially scabbed-over cuts. The stinging sensation subsided, and lay back, enjoying the first warm bath she'd had in nearly a month. Then the thoughts began to come back, the memories, the raging tide of emotions. Salty tears dripped down her face into the water.

"And those tears are for?"

Mogget was sitting on the dressing table against the wall on the other side of the room. Sorielle hadn't been awake enough to see him when she had dragged herself in the room.

"Holy Charter!" she screamed and sank under the water. A few bubbles escaped from her lips as she resurfaced. She smoothed back her hair and leaned against the side of the tub. "Bloody hell, Mogget. I didn't see you there. You are a strange cat."

Mogget glared at her, his green eyes flashing. He wasn't particularly fond of the form that she'd forced him to resume when she was around, but he had to listen to her. These were the conditions set down long ago by the same Seven who had bound Mogget as a servant to the Abhorsen line in the first place. "You know full well that I am not a cat."

"What do you take me for, an idiot? I know that. You're still strange, though."

"Where have you been for the past three weeks? The messenger sparrow from Belisaere said that you'd been ambushed, but they never found your body."

"Aw, Mogget, you sound like a mother. Why do you care anyway?"

"Curiosity. Cat. Kill." Mogget explained in an abbreviated monotone version of the familiar aphorism. "The entire kingdom was in an uproar after your disappearance. They thought that Myrael couldn't handle the duties. They think that. They need to be alerted to your reappearance."

"Well, as soon as I get **out of the bathtub**, I'll send a messenger sparrow. And **don't** let that recalcitrant sending in when you leave."

He didn't move.

"Mogget! Out!"

He meowed at her, then hopped down, and strolled out the door. Minutes later, the recalcitrant sending with the red robes glided in the doorway. Sorielle groaned and sank underwater, but the sending yanked her up and began to scrub her furiously.

"I'm going to bloody kill him!" she muttered all the while, planning to give Mogget a nice soak and hopefully drown the ill-tempered feline.

The hurt came back that night. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she lay in her white linen nightgown. The moonlight seeped through the window; its pale beams shone across the bed. She pulled back the covers and slipped out of bed, walking to the window to look at the moon. The darkness of the night reminded her of those wonderful dark weeks. The tears came down in torrents and her body was wracked with sobs. _I lobed him, and now he's gone. It was the right choice, I know, but this pain is so terrible it feels like I'm being ripped apart. It's all over, but I can feel him in my heart or like he's beside me. I'm still holding the memories close, but a week used to belong enough to move on. _She felt so lonely without his arms around her. Finally, she went back to bed and lay beneath the covers, but did not sleep.

_Memories haunting my evenings,  
__Eyes watching me through the moon.  
__I hope my good days aren't over,  
__Not so soon…_

That had occurred nearly a year ago. Sorielle was back at the house again, for a brief respite between the next sojourn, at Gardil. The villagers had been experiencing a disturbing amount of incidences involving Mordauts…and their Charter Stone had been broken. Sorielle had never seen a broken Charter Stone in her time, and there had only been one incidence of it in the past few decades before she had been born.

Suddenly a sending floated up the stairs, into the room with news of a visitor. Sorielle, who had been in the study, came down through the trap door and followed the stairs down into the lower parlor, where her visitor awaited. The visitor was a tall, blonde woman with green eyes. Her white robes were dusted with golden stars and hung in drapes to the floor as she stood.

"Hello. I am Vairyn, Daughter of the Clayr. I have a most eminent message for you."

"Urgent?" Sorielle asked, businesslike.

"Why, of course! I have received a vision of danger for your life and the welfare of the Kingdom. You must go to the Royal Court in Belisaere immediately."

Sorielle paused to stare at her.

_Idiot. Stupid idiot. Fool, you've wasted your chance at redemption. Stupid fool. I thought that she'd stay forever. I lied to myself in hopes of that. Sora, my angel, she's gone forever. My Sora, I've been a stupid fool. And now I can only call her "Sora" in my mind._ It had become his mantra ever since she had left him almost a year ago. He'd continued on with the dark business of necromancy, but every moment felt like a betrayal to Sorielle. A darker, greater force had swept him into its malevolent tide, bidding him to do its evil will among others of its ilk. His life was now a lie without her. He could almost hear her voice whispering in his head, and he knew that she could hear him all the same.

_I never have seen an angel;  
__I gave up watching the sky.  
__Whisper softly to me, honey,  
__But don't lie… (Don't you lie…)_

"I haven't been to the Royal Court since I became Abhorsen. Tell me what could possibly be so important."

"Miss Abhorsen, please believe me. The shattered images of my vision prophesize danger."

"I'm the Abhorsen; every day I live is fraught with danger." She sighed. "Do you have any of the necessary tools for me to view this vision?"

She was answered with a telltale flash of light as Vairyn pulled a green crystal flask and a wand out from the sleeve of her robes. In movements so swift that they would've been missed had Sorielle blinked, Vairyn threw the contents of the bottle in front of Sorielle and froze them with the wand. Now, a pane of glass hung in the air in front of her. Vairyn tapped the pane twice, and it filled with golden Charter Marks which pulsated, transforming into splotches of color. These splotches began to magnify into fragmented images as the two women watched intently, Vairyn's eyes clouded with the Sight and Sorielle focused on what her eyes beheld.

Flashing upon the pane were images of a dark-haired man with brilliant blue eyes. He seemed so familiar. _It's Jasaad! No, it can't be. I'm only seeing his face because it haunts my dreams; the Clayr don't See the past, so it cannot be him…_ Sorielle's mind screamed at her. She shut her eyes at the flood of memories and images. When she reopened them the pane was still changing.

Sorielle looked as great splotches of red; blood, splattered onto the pane. She could see a great darkness amassing and hear a dark, tainted voice saying, "So you betray me for one of their blood."

Images of a battlefield darkened with blood erupted before her eyes. The dark-haired man standing on a hill with sorrow in his eyes. The dark-haired man cruelly kissing a woman. Now, she saw herself on a desolate hill, winding blowing in her hair, tears streaming down her cheeks. She could literally feel pain as she saw a sword plunging through her leg. Herself almost dead, on a sickbed. Screaming, "I love you. Don't leave me."

The images appeared faster, growing in horror. She saw herself again, sword unsheathed, in Belisaere fighting the Dead. She saw Queen Lyris dying, being carried by a necromancer for most certain death. The final image was the Queen lifeless and bloody on the throne room steps. The cycle of images began again and Sorielle pulled away from the pain. Vairyn stopped Seeing, then tapped the pane again and it fell to a thousand pieces on the floor.

"Miss Abhorsen, I realize that some of these images may have more relevance to you than to me, but I believe we agree that is would be best to do as I'd advised. Remember that the future is made of many possible threads, this is only one and it can be changed. So, I assume if we continue with the belief that it's best if…"

"I'll go to Belisaere." Sorielle told her, her face devoid of emotion. "May I entreat you to stay for supper?"

"That would be lovely, yes."

"I'll have the sendings prepare you a room. Until this evening, Vairyn, Daughter of the Clayr."

Sorielle left the room via the stairs and climbed back up to the observatory. Once there, she broke down in tears. _Why did I keep seeing Jasaad? In the vision, he was there. Sometimes I feel like he's still here. But we had two weeks together a year ago, I should've moved on by now._

_I still see you when my eyes are closed,  
__Tell me why I can't let go.  
__I still smell you inside of my clothes.  
__Oh, honey…_

The road was long and hard, and the city of Belisaere laid a far way away. After dinner that night, Vairyn had departed for the eternal seclusion of the glacier. Mogget had been hanging around like the pestilence, and Sorielle decided that she could not take much more of that, not that it would be near as aggravating as the political backstabbing and gossip of Belisaere's Royal Court.

She didn't act with that wild abandon anymore; she was back to her normal, apathetic, authoritative approach. She didn't explode into tears anymore at the pain, or laugh, or get angry at attempts of seduction. There was no pain, just numbness and a scar. There were no jokes. There was no breath of lust. She was back in control at least, but it wasn't for the best. She was numb.

This new quest had greatly delayed help for the villagers at Gardil. A broken Charter Stone was a pressing issue, but not as pressing as the death of the Queen and a bloody battle. They would have to fend for themselves until she was able to get to Belisaere and sort things out. _I have to save the Kingdom as is my duty, and carry the weight of the world. If, no, when I succeed, then maybe I can find a solution for the next catastrophe. There will always be another disaster or a wrong I must right._

_Someday, I'll go for the glory.  
__I'll conquer everyone's fears  
__And for once the ending of the story  
__Won't be tears…_

She finally reached Callibe, the seaside town where she'd arrange for a boat to transport her up the coast, to Belisaere. Albeit, it was a small fishing town where few fisherman would be willing travel that far, but being the Abhorsen did have its benefits. A crowd gathered as she rode towards the main street. She had not been there in quite a few years, and the appearance of the Abhorsen was a novelty.

"Is any man willing to lend his boat for a voyage to Belisaere? I have no transportation and an urgent purpose." She called out. The people stared at her in near-silence. She sighed exasperatedly. "I'm willing to pay."

About five men raised their hands. She spoke to the eldest, an old man with a coarse, silver beard and eyes brimming with wisdom.

"You, sir. Will you take me to Belisaere?"

"Aye, ma'am. That I would. I can 'ave me boat readied in an hour."

The crowd had begun to depart, relieved of the excitement and returning to their daily tasks, when Sorielle looked up at the midday sun.

"Thank you. I'll be at the docks within an hour; I expect to be readied to sail immediately after that. Can you agree to these terms?"

"Aye, ma'am."

As he rushed to the docks with surprising speed for one so ancient, Sorielle set about procuring necessary provisions for the week-long trip up the coast. At the end of the hour, she approached the docks with her purchases. She saw the old man standing on a rickety old fisherman-s schooner, and boarded.

On the third day of the journey, the old man, whose name was Caleb, began to make polite conversation. Sorielle had been rather silent during the first two days.

"So, Miss Abhorsen, if ye don't mind me asking, what business have ye in Belisaere?"

"An urgent message for the Queen." Her tone was clipped and harsh. She didn't feel much like conversing.

"Oh." He responded. "Them politicians are too damned aristocratic for their own good. Nosing in each others' business and the like. Ye going to Court?"

She turned to him in surprise. "Caleb, I wholeheartedly agree with you view. Yes, I will be attending Court." He nodded as she continued. "I've seen entirely too many liars and backstabbers in my life."

"Well, ma'am, no disrespect, but I'm sure in me longer years I've seen more than you 'ave. I'll be crossing over soon, ye know."

"All too well."

She fell silent again, brooding. In the silence, although she tried to forget, memories of Jasaad flooded back. She faced them with numb uncertainty.

_I have seen too much betrayal.  
__I have heard too many lies.  
__Someday, I'll be purple lightning  
__In the skies…_

_I still see you when my eyes are closed.  
__Tell me why I can't let go.  
__I still smell you inside of my clothes.  
__Oh, honey…  
__I can't love anybody but you.  
__Oh, honey._

When at long last they sailed between Winding Post and Boom Hook, into the Sea of Saere, and their final destination, Belisaere, they parted ways. Sorielle thanked the fisherman for the use of his schooner, and hurriedly rushed to the palace. She burst through the double doors into the main throne room. Her short stature was overpowered by the dashing image she made in her blue, key-spangled surcoat and chain mail armor as she strode through the hordes of imposingly-garbed aristocrats. Their stares received from behind upturned noses, made her want to retreat, but she walked boldly on.

"Your Majesty, I have a matter of utmost importance that I need to discuss with you as soon as possible. With all due respect, I believe that this is worth more attention than this…petty affair." He voice rang out above the din of deafening silence.

"Very well, Abhorsen." The crimson-haired woman atop the throne gestured to two attendants to escort Sorielle into an adjoining chamber. Sorielle was seated, but rose in respectful acknowledgement when the Queen arrived. The Queen dismissed the attendants and sat down with an elegant flourish. Her mask of pretense collapsed and was replaced with a jubilant smile.

"Sorielle, cousin, how have you been? I was so glad to hear that you survived the ambush!" she gushed. Lyris sealed the room from eavesdropping with a Charter spell, and then leapt out of her seat to embrace Sorielle.

"Heartbroken, healed, and in big trouble." Sorielle smiled wistfully. Her control slipped and a few tears trickled out of her eyes. "Lyris, the last year has been so trying a-and…I-I-I found a broken Charter Stone."

Queen Lyris, Sorielle's older cousin, adopted a worried frown at the sight of tears. This was certainly a matter of utmost gravity. Sorielle almost never cried, and never in front of others.

"A broken Charter Stone? That sounds serious. And what was it that you said about heartbreak?"

Sorielle related the entire story; the ambush, the seduction, the falling in love, the pain, and the arising trouble, to her over the next few hours. Through most of it, tears spilled down her cheeks, but she sobered when she began to speak about the Clayr's vision.

"S-Sorielle, that's horrible. You really did love him…and he used you, but he loved you…he's gone forever….how do you live?" Lyris sympathized.

"Lyris, that's not what the issue is. There's a broken Charter Stone in Gardil, which may be a part of this doom prophecy."

"Cousin Dearest, if you don't sort out your emotional issues, then you'll never be able to handle the upcoming catastrophe."

"Well, **Cousin**, you'll be pleased to know that I no longer feel anything for Jasaad anymore." Sorielle announced, but her words were a fallacy.

"Yes, you do; you cried! You almost never cry! The problem, I believe, is that you are sexually attracted to him, and, having no other man in your life, have pent up desires."

"So, what are you suggesting? A lover?"

"Go have a tumble and you'll be right as rain."

"I never got that saying; right as rain, and are **you **saying that I should just sleep with some random man to forget him?"

"Exactly, m'dear. When have I ever steered you wrong?"

"When you told me that not kissing a boy before the age of thirteen would disqualify me from being Abhorsen."

Lyris laughed, "And since then?"

"Never." Sorielle smiled begrudgingly.

"Then go ahead. Find a man and forget the necromancer. We'll worry about the prophecy on the morrow."

That night, Sorielle cast a glamour on herself and slipped down to a bar in the slums of Belisaere. With her newly-conjured red hair and chocolate brown eyes, she caught the eye of a tall, supremely-masculine man. He had a large muscular build, blond hair, dark green eyes, and kept on winking at her. Of course, this may have been attributed to the fact that the outfit she had borrowed from a servant had a very low neckline, revealing much of her bosom. After a flirtatious conversation, she followed him into an inn. They made love on his bed, only she couldn't call it making love, it was just sex, because she was detached from all the emotions other than lust. He was so much more masculine than Jasaad, but it wasn't the same. There was no seduction, no real passion, and no fulfillment. She couldn't forget him, even in the arms of another man. Some things may only be forgotten in time.

_I was alone; I was broken.  
__I needed someone to love.  
__Your love was sticky like honey.  
__Your love was sticky like honey.  
__I said now your love was sticky like honey;  
__I got stuck…_

After the man was asleep, she slipped out of the glamour, and made her way back to the palace. The next morning, she told Lyris about her midnight escapade with a stranger from the slums.

"Have a nice tumble?"

"It was a lovely tumble, yes, but I fear it only relieved the tension, not the heartbreak."

"I didn't think that you'd lose your head after three weeks, Sorielle."

"Cousin dear, I did. I don't think I'll ever forget, but I can move on."

"I envy you. I really do, but I don't envy your tears."

"Love is a wicked thing, Lyris, if it cannot be rightfully felt. I miss him so much. Jasaad and I, we were never…I don't think we were ever meant to be, but it was the love of a lifetime."

"Do you believe that?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

_I still see you when my eyes are closed.  
__Tell me why I can't let go.  
__I still smell you inside of my clothes.  
__Oh, honey…_

_I can't love anybody but you.  
__I'm afraid, yeah, but I know it's true.  
__I can't find no one sweeter than you.  
__Oh…_

_See you, feel you, touch you…  
__Oh, can't let go of you, baby…  
__Honey…ah._

(Wipes tears from her eyes) This song is so sad… Oh, and I believe I mentioned this on my profile, but I created a soundtrack for this story. If you would like to create your own copy, email me and I'll give you the songs. Until next time-Siren's Voice.


	13. Torments of Loss

Aww. Poor Jasaad. Sorry, but I had to torture him a bit. Apparently he likes it rough…? Yeah, I know, I know, I need to shut up, but I'm a bit psycho at the moment. I apologize for taking so long to update. Please don't hurt me! Just read the chapter! And isn't thirteen supposed to be unlucky? Oh well, just read it already!

He wasn't giving in anytime soon, but that dark harsh voice, crackling with the acrid, obscene power of Free Magic, wreathed all around him, thundering in his mind.

"Lechnan revealed your duplicity with his demise. Of course, we would have known anyway."

Jasaad didn't answer, but a defiant scowl remained on his face. His hands were bound above his head in biting chains imbued with Free Magic. They had much more of a concentration of it than his own had, but thus was the acrid power of his superiors. Blood dripped down from a dozen cuts on his forehead, mingling with the sweat, and fell into his eyes. His body was bruised and bleeding all over from magical wounds, more poisoning and painful than wounds from physical weapons, and he was rather sure that one of his ribs was broken. It was worse, of course, on his torso, where his tunic had been torn of and it hurt to merely breathe. He was panting from the tremendous torture he had been enduring. It was hard to see through his blackened eyes, but the icy blue irises still looked into the dark, tainted abyss that had control of him.

"You, foolish Jasaad, saved the Abhorsen. She was meant to die in that ambush, but you had to have her for your own." The harsh voice resounding seemingly in his head paused, as if to smile. Jasaad's breath caught in his throat at the mention of his Sora. "You love her." He didn't respond. "We demand obedience from our servants and you have been most unfaithful. Had you been any other, you would be dead by now. You wish you were dead, don't you?"

Jasaad closed his eyes in pain, helpless as a tendril of the darkness lovingly stroked his cheek. He jerked his head away from its biting touch, and then laughed quietly.

"No. as a matter of fact, I've been starting to wonder if this is the extent of your powers."

Many tendrils surrounded him, now crackling with violet electricity. The darkness surged with thousands of volts of electricity, purple lighting. They began to slap him and whip him, each time his body jerked at the shock. He gritted his teeth at the excruciating pain as the tendrils stung and blackened his body; he was writhing on the floor. _Do not scream. It will only fuel them. Do not scream. You are not a coward. Do not scream. Think of Sora. DO NOT SCREAM!_

The tendrils wrapped his body, all at once, with a final, powerful surge of electricity. Jasaad lost consciousness save one last thought. _Sora_.

He awoke a while later. His body was in more pain than before, more pain than he had thought possible. His bonds had been released, and he was lying sprawled on the wet, rocky floor on his back. He raised himself to a kneeling position.

"I know that you're still here."

"Very good, Jasaad. I'll make you an offer, though duplicitous and unworthy you are." The voice rang out, crackling with explosive Free Magic. Jasaad laughed at it. He was in a tremendous amount of pain, but nothing would make him forsake his pride. Maybe Sorielle would, but she was gone. The shadow mass around him shook in fury, then struck out, punching him squarely in the jaw. Blood filled his mouth as the shadow mass continued. "Thanks to your unique relationship and ability to get close again, you must slay the Abhorsen girl as a sign of loyalty…or die!"

"Never!" Jasaad shouted at it, spitting the blood on the floor. The tendrils of shadow, darkness, evil wrapped around him, pulsing and stinging like a giant jellyfish. This time, the pain was so great that he screamed, roaring in the excruciation. "Alright, she's yours."

The shadows vanished immediately, leaving him alone in the true darkness and stillness of the cave, however far from his own. He lay back, truly laughing despite the pain. He laughed like a maniac, crazed and twisted in his torment.

"She's mine, you bloody fools. She's all mine!"

He stopped laughing. He was being sent to assassinate the woman he loved. She had left him for her own protection, but little good it would do her now. It did not stop the fact that they were mere pawns being played in a game of terrifying evil. He had to find her, make her his again, to save her. Otherwise, they would send someone else. He would make himself a worthy man, find her, and then defend her against those of their ilk.

He closed his eyes and sweet images of her entered his mind. _My beloved, my angel, my dearest, my Sora. Sorielle. I'll make myself a worthy man so that I can save you. I'll find you, darling. I promise._


	14. Wicked Dreams

I find it absolutely amazing that we are now at 113 reviews…and counting! Hmm…maybe I should consider this for a career. But what the hell do I know? I'm getting ahead of myself. Enjoy Chapter 14 and don't forget to review. Please? For me?

Turmoil in the court of Belisaere, destroying gossips flitting around ballrooms, and the jaded decadence of too much silk was beginning to grate on Sorielle's nerves. Too many women cared only about what color their next ball gown would be and the amount of gemstones embellishing their jewelry, an unbearable and unavoidable aggravation.

Night after night, there were banquets and masquerades and balls and operas, three more months and she'd go insane. She longed for the feeling of a horse between her legs and the release of the tension she wanted to relieve by decapitating a particularly irritating twit by the name of Kenna Braelis. Worse than all the excessive indulgence was the lingering anticipation for an impending disaster. Sorielle knew that it would come.

She had arrived in Belisaere two months ago and had suffered through more luxuries than she had deemed possible, all the while interpreting the true meaning of the Clayr's visions. _Was that man really Jasaad? That is, he had had looked so remarkably similar to him. It may be wishful thinking, but objectively, I want to believe that it has something to do with the prophecy. Has to. Doesn't it?_

"Why the face, cousin dear?" Lyris asked suddenly in a merry tone, her ebullience jolting Sorielle from her grave and melancholy thoughts.

"Musings of the bored and depressed." Sorielle replied, sober and stoic. The fact that they were at yet another banquet only added to her tone. She should be happy. Her raven hair was regally placed back in a circlet, coiled and coifed, and she wore an exquisite satin gown of blood orange. The vivid hue contrasted starkly, yet beautifully with her pale skin, inky eyes, and dark cascade of hair.

The people surrounding her were laughing, talking, eating, and dancing to the rousing music of the royal musicians. Their feet tapped in rhythm to a beat she couldn't feel anymore than she could feel the beat of her deadened heart. She was brooding and sulking as she sat on the gilt chair to the right of the throne. She could only think of the macabre premonitions and her transitory and torrid love affair with a necromancer. She grimaced, slouching back with her head in one hand. _Can't take this much longer. And what about the broken Charter stone? Her highness was able to repair it, but I never found the murderous culprit. I really have to get out of here._

Her mind drifted back to the night that she had had the tumble with the man in the bar. Messing around in an inn in the seedier side of Belisaere; not the best of all the decisions in her life, but she kept on thinking about it. It made her feel like a dirty tramp.

There was only so much ballroom-dancing a woman could take. She stood abruptly, and then walked before the Queen's throne. She knelt in front of her, bowing her head, and murmured, "Your Majesty."

She kissed her cousin's hand, then turned and left the Great Hall. She weaved her way through the crowd of aristocrats, and then slipped through the large doors. She made her way back to the small flat in the abandoned section of the palace. Seclusion and silence welcomed her at last. The isolated apartments had been laid aside and refurbished for her stay in Belisaere. Once there, she laid down on the chaise lounge in her parlor, not bother to remove the aristocratic finery as she collapsed.

Her mind returned to her previous thoughts. She could remember the man's hands on her body and him within her. Her impassive memories of that night contrasted so darkly against the effusive emotions of her weeks with Jasaad. Still, it weighed heavily on her conscience and her mind. She kept on remembering her lewd behavior, then felling asleep, dreaming of the bad memory.

She took her time casting the glamour. _Red hair, maybe, and, oh! Brown eyes, that warm chocolaty color._ She was only going to cast it on her face and hair, so as not to get recognized. She had decided not to change her body or features other than in color; otherwise her companion that evening, if gifted in the Charter, may become suspicious. As soon as she finished the spell, completing it with a Master Mark, she set it aside so that she could get dressed. She slipped into the green linen dress, which set off her vibrant new tresses. The dress fit snugly against the abundant curves of her petite body. Her swelling cleavage threatened to spill over the low neckline of the dress. She tied a jade necklace around her throat, and then stepped into the glamour. A tingling sensation erupted over her body, but it dissipated after a few minutes.

She made lurked through the palace, easing out the back gates, and walking down to the seedier side of Belisaere. She reached a tavern that stood on the edges of the city, nearly crossing where the aqueducts protected the great city from the grasp of the Dead and those of their ilk.

She took a seat on a barstool and ordered a heady brew from the bartender. She sipped her way through one and a half mugs of ale before her perfect specimen walked into the tavern.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully, objectively appraising the handsome man before her. He was tall, with a muscular build, and large, rough, manly hands that she could already imagine on her tiny body. His hair was a golden, sandy blond and pulled back into a short ponytail, his eyes were a dark green, like the spicy-scented pine needles that littered the forest floor, and his skin was the tanned flesh of a dockworker. His facial features were well-proportioned, but with a rugged, more masculine sensuality that Jasaad never had.

_Now, it's my turn to play the seductress. I've never done anything like this before, but if it works, then all my heartbreak will be over and done with. No more Jasaad._

The blond man sat down on a barstool and she decided that she wanted him to be her companion in bed tonight. She smiled as seductively as she knew how and strode up to him, her hips swaying temptingly. Upon reaching his stool, she nimbly hopped into his lap.

"Hello there, handsome stranger." She murmured in a sultry tone.

"Hello yourself." He grinned lustily at her, winking.

"So how long are you in Belisaere?" She attempted to keep a husky seductive tone in her voice, despite her lack of expertise in the subject of seduction.

"I leave in the morn." _Perfect_, she thought.

"How does one last night of fun sound?"

"Pardon?"

"Let's put it this way: I want you. The question is how bad you want me?" she whispered into his ear, and then began to nibble on it seductively. He took less than a moment to decide; he kissed her roughly on the lips and smiled charmingly. "So be it."

He took her off his lap and set her on the floor. Sorielle gasped, surprised, as he grabbed her hand and led her through the winding streets to the inn where he was staying. As soon as he unlocked the door and swung it open, Sorielle hopped onto her companion, locking her legs around his waist. He backed into the room, whirling around to slam the door shut, then, kissing, allowed momentum to carry them to the bed. His lips sought hers, his tongue hungrily penetrating her mouth. They fairly ripped off each other's clothes, clawing at the fabric, he lifted her dress over her head and began to massage her breasts, his large hands pinching her nipples, teasing them into hardened pink peaks. She gave forth a low moan of arousal, animalistic in her desire.

Sorielle could feel that her partner's manhood was already hard. She slipped her hand down his trousers and grasped it. He looked at her in surprise, no woman he had ever been with had been that aggressive. Her actions increased his own aggression, He unbuckled his trousers as she continued to rub and pump his erection, then kicked the pants off and kissed her savagely. She kissed him back with the same crudity, and then expressed permission for him to mount her with a temptress' smile. Just as he was about to enter her, she asked him a belated question.

"What's your name, sir?'

"Machel."

"Good, because that's what I'm going to be screaming in a few minutes."

He entered her hard, hips circling, thrusting, and surely as she had predicted, she screamed. She rolled atop him once again, and rode him. For near an hour, they kept it up, hot and heavy, Machel climax a few times on his own, spurting his fount within her. At last, her scream of fulfillment came, the familiar explosion, barely a second after his final release. He pulled his large, oh-so-masculine self out of her, and fell asleep within minutes, exhausted from her furious lovemaking. She lay wakeful.

Sorielle's tension had, at long last, been relieved, but her heart was still captive. _Damn it. I still can't forget. I suppose some things only come in time. Then again, it's not really making love unless you're in love. It's not much fun being the seductress or, well, maybe I just prefer being seduced. Maybe I would have enjoyed it if I was seducing- Damn it! _She thought. _That was passionate with no passion; an oxymoron if ever I heard one. I can't forget, even in the arms of another man. I suppose some things are only forgotten in time. _

Nonetheless, she was satisfied with the night's work. She un-cast the glamour; her crimson tresses returned to her natural raven locks and her eyes darkened to their normal shade. She carefully climbed out of bed, cautious of waking her partner of that evening, and slipped her green linen dress back on. She left the inn, then, making her from the slums of Belisaere back to her apartments in the palace. Shame crept into the edges of her mind, but she wearily pushed it away.

She awoke feeling numb, and rather famished. She had not eaten anything since breakfast that morning, if an apple could be considered breakfast. She wanted to get out of the horrid ball gown first. She drifted, weary of existence, into the bed chamber, promptly tossing the blood orange gown onto the back of a chair. She untied the corset strings with newfound skill, then threw it atop the dress. She removed her brown stockings, then slipped a simple crème-hued gown over her lacy white chemise and, lacing up the bodice, kicked off her fancy slippers. She wandered back down the hallway, clad in only a pale dress, to the kitchen. A nice comforting stew would evaporate all thoughts of her bad decisions in love and lust.


	15. In Your Embrace Again

_I apologize for taking so long to update…the summer heat fried my brain. Then again, this chapter might be just hot enough to frazzle some of yours. Written heavily under the influence of Shakira's song "La Tortura". Have fun, kiddies…_

Sorielle's bare feet pattered across the cold tile floor of the kitchen. She set a large, water-filled pot on a hook in the fireplace and lit a fire using the flint above the mantel. There was something therapeutic about striking the steel against the flint, causing the spark to set the tinder aflame, as opposed to using Charter Magic. She broke off some herbs from the hand-woven basket on the hearth, sprinkling them into the water. Then, Sorielle brushed the remaining crumbs off of her hands and began to cut up the vegetables. Celery, carrots, corn, potatoes, and green beans all went into the pot of now simmering water and the stew's delicious aroma began to permeate throughout the tiny kitchen.

She began to chop the onions, the fumes from their bitter juice causing her tears to well up in her eyes. She wiped the tears that ran down her cheeks with the back of her hand. Then, real tears started to pour and she let them fall.

_Damn it. That dream keeps on bringing back something I'm not still supposed to feel. That lustful wicked night was supposed to make me forget, but I can only remember. The memory of Machel only brings back the memory of my love for Jasaad. Damn it all._

She scooped up the onions and dropped them into the broth. Sorielle plucked two tomatoes from an overhanging wicker basket and began to chop them up, too. All of the sudden, she felt two familiar arms encircle her waist and a familiar mouth began to kiss her neck. He continued to kiss her there as one of his hands moved up the front of her dress, then slipped down in her bodice to possess her breasts. She moaned as she felt her nipples grow hard; he was stroking one with his thumb. Sorielle's breathing became heavier, and she accidentally crushed one of the tomatoes, an effect of the pleasure coursing through her, causing the juice to spurt all over her hands.

"Jasaad!" she panted, whirling around in his arms and lifting her hands in surprise. He took her fingers into his mouth, sucking off the juice, and then licking the seeds off her palms. Then he smiled at her mischievously.

"Did you miss me?"

"How did you…"

"Shh!" he interrupted, kissing her until she blushed. "I'm here now, that is all that matters."

He removed the circlet and the pins that held her coifed hair atop her head, causing it to tumble down in a cascade of raven curls. He grabbed hold of her shoulders, pulling her to him, and kissed her once again, his tongue plundering her mouth, rediscovering what he had known so well and reclaiming what he had been missing. He pushed the sleeves of her gown off her shoulders as they both sank down to the floor. She lay back against the cabinet, panting heavily, and looking at him with the strangest mixture of love and lust in her eyes.

"I'm sorry that I ever left. I still want you. Do you love me?"

"Yes, a resounding yes, and I'm going to make love to you on every available surface in your apartments. First and foremost, on your kitchen floor."

"Really? You do really love me?"

"Yes, darling. I'm so sorry that I said those things to you. I love you." He kissed her again, and then grinned impishly. "There's no reason to stop here."

She gasped again as her held her captive against the cabinet and left his mark on her neck. Skin bruised by passion as it had been bruised so many times before. She arched her back as he pulled the bodice of her dress below her breasts, nibbling, and then sucking hard.

"Ja-Jasaad!" she breathed. Now, she wanted him, needed him more than she ever had before; separation was unbearable. He loved her now. She clasped her hands at her chest as he let go and lifted her back to a kneeling position. Now, their noses were almost touching they were in such a close proximity. Jasaad smirked.

"Yes, my Sora?"

"Oh, do call me that again!'

"Sora?"

"Oh yes." She exclaimed, and then leapt at him, ripping open his shirt as they fell backwards. For the first time, she made her mark on his neck. He pulled his shirt off, and then pulled her simple dress and chemise over her head his slender hands reached for her naked breasts, caressing and kneading them with expert skill. He slammed her against a cabinet and she screamed in as much pain as pleasure. He kissed her gently on the mouth while two of his fingers entered her moist womanhood. His tongue slid into her mouth as a third finger slid in, she writhed beneath his touch, his tongue pressed into her mouth as his fingers stroked within her. His other hand squeezed her derriere. His tongue and hers danced back and forth in a fiery, hungry dance of passion, He withdrew his fingers and placed them in his mouth, incensing her as he sucked her wetness off. Mean while, he unbuckled and slipped off his trousers and boots.

"Please. I've waited so long." She whimpered.

He kissed Sorielle savagely, and then shoved her onto the cold tile floor. He grabbed her buttocks, and then clasped her to him as he drove his hardened length into her. She shrieked in joy. They tumbled about on the floor, legs entangled, bodies united, mouths locked. On moment he was on top of her, the next she was riding him. They knocked into the cabinets quite a few times during their odyssey; a perpetually-shifting embrace.

Jasaad stood up, then, pulling Sorielle with him, keeping himself hard within her, leaned against the wall. She rubbed against his chest, leaning up on her toes, pulling his manhood up in an excruciatingly sweet stretch. He groaned, then ran his hands up the backs of her thighs and grabbed her rump. She squealed in delight, and then wrapped one leg around his thigh. He flipped her so that she was pressed against the wall, pounding her endlessly. She screamed in ecstasy, trembling. She climaxed with an exploding shudder, still shivering as he planted his seed deep within her. They both sank to the floor, exhausted by their violent acts of passion, and he rolled away, laying back.

"I'm so tired. We should really get into bed; it's no use to sleep on the kitchen floor." She sighed.

"Nonsense, dear. I actually feel rather energized by it."

"You're insane." She moaned, her eyes closing.

"Alright then, my sleepy Sora." He stood up, scooping her up, piled their discarded clothes atop her, and then carried her back to her bedroom as she directed him. He pulled back the covers and they both climbed beneath the goose down quilt. She closed her eyes, senseless and too tired to think. Something in her bedside manner disturbed him. He roused the drowsy Abhorsen.

"Mmm?"

"Sorielle, were you well while I was gone?"

"Yes, just dandy." She murmured. Suddenly he shot up and held her against the mattress. Her eyes opened wide with surprise and fear.

"Jasaad, what are you…"

"You were with another man, weren't you?"

"Jasaad, I don't…"

"Who touched you, Sorielle? Did he do it like me?"

"Jasaad, I…"

"Tell me, love, did he kiss you here?" He kissed her crudely on the mouth, jamming his tongue between her lips, then pulling her lower lips into his mouth and releasing it slowly.

"Did he do this?" he pinched her nipples until she moaned with delicious pain, then caressed then and suckled on them hard.

"Please." She begged. "Don't!"

"Why? Did he touch you here?" His eyes were smoldering, indigo in anger. He slid his fingers harshly into her vagina and she writhed beneath the touch of her cruel tempter. He was not acting like the man she loved, he was acting like a man consumed in a fit of jealous rage. He was assaulting her with his fingers, but she secretly delighted in the plunder as he held her against the mattress with his other hand.

"Touch me, Sorielle. Did he make you touch him?" He placed her hand at his belt buckle, forcing her to unbuckle his pants and reach inside. She shook her head in incompliance. "Yes. Grab me." He forced her fingers to close around his manhood. He was hard again and cruelly forcing her to remember betraying him. Torment, such torment.

"Yes! Yes, I went to the bed of another man! But I thought you didn't love me!" she cried.

"Since when did that matter to you?"

"I'm sorry." She sobbed. "Please forgive me. I swear I'll never let another man touch me again!"

"I don't blame you, Sora dear, but I must rid you of his touch."

Rough and still tender, he drove himself into her harder than he ever had before. Tears were at the corners of her eyes from his forcefulness, but conceding, she lay limply and bit her lip to keep from crying out. Sorielle understood that letting him have his way with her was the only way to purge him off his jealousy, so she allowed him the release of his tension. _So this is what it means to be made love to until the brink of insanity._ At last, he came within her and let her be.

She snuggled closer to him to show her apology and her forgiveness, and he cradled her in his arms. She was aching now, but was not going to complain about the violence of their lovemaking.

"Did you scream for him like you do for me, my love?"

"Never as much." She whispered. They seemed to be the words that he needed to hear. His eyes returned to their normal shade of ice. "I love only you."

"I know, darling, I know."

He realized how much he might have hurt her when he was exhibiting his jealous, lustful rage. He made love to her one final time. Now, it was all murmurs of sweet endearments, gentle caresses, and tender, sweet kisses. Their bodies made a slow, sensual rhythm that whispered of love joyous and tender. This was his apology.

The next morning, they awoke late, tangled in each other's arms beneath the covers.

"You weren't lying when you said that you were carnally indefatigable."

"I don't lie."

"Jasaad, something has been bothering me for quite some time." She spoke, fidgeting, turning his fingers over in her palm.

"Yes?" he asked, kissing her gently on the forehead.

"Before you told me that Jasaad wasn't your actual name."

"Oh. I did lie about that."

"Then you must have really trusted me."

"Mmm? Oh yes."

She sat up abruptly. "My soup!"

"You mean you left it burning all night?"

"Oh well, never mind. The servants probably took care of it."

"Won't they be surprised to find a strange man in your bed?'

"If they are they'll keep it to themselves."

He chuckled then began to kiss her again.

_See? See? I told you it was hot. Now review or die as I cackle madly at my own awesomeness. Okay, I admit I'm not awesome in the slightest, but be happy because they're back together and review!_


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